


claw marks

by flybbfly



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dystopia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-10-13 16:18:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 70,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10517355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flybbfly/pseuds/flybbfly
Summary: The Foxes are an underground resistance group in a dystopian near-future. Neil is the shady new recruit.Part 1984, part "The Lottery," part "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas," part V for Vendetta.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: references to past rape, abuse, and self-harm; prescribed drug use; canon-typical internalized ableism; canon-typical violence; and canonical character death. I'll update the tags if anything else comes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally meant to be one big thing for Big Bang so there's a lot of exposition in this chapter. I moved some of it but lol fuck it!!! Enjoy!

Andrew first spots Neil Josten when he's nursing a steady buzz in lieu of his meds and Josten is hunched around a duffel bag in a chair in the makeshift mess hall, watching Wilds give a rallying cry and speak power to the people or whatever it is she does. Neil is the sole bright spot in the fog of Andrew's withdrawal, and that screams Danger, so Andrew pulls up a chair and bares his teeth. 

“Who are you?” Andrew says.

Neil looks at him instead. For his part, he's just as wary as Andrew, looks like a rabbit caught in a trap. 

“Neil Josten,” he says. 

“I know that already,” Andrew says, because he does. Dan mentioned it at a meeting earlier, and Andrew was listening even if he didn't look like he was listening. It's just what they need here, he thought when she said it: more people. What's that line about hell? “What are you doing here?”

“Same thing as everyone else, I guess,” Neil says. “Saving the world.”

*

For the most part, all of them live underground—not literally, or at least not totally literally—in rebel cells across the nation. Code word for theirs: Foxes. Because the old university mascot was a fox. It isn't that clever.

Wymack hand picks them, plops unsuspecting future victims of the administration with useful skill sets right into Fox Tower in Palmetto, an off-the-grid shelter town a couple hours outside of Columbia. Wymack's still above ground pretending to be a contributing member of society, which is charming really, considering he's anything but. Neil was a special case, picked out by Kevin after watching videos of him with Wymack one afternoon. 

Apparently Josten wasn't interested when Wymack showed up at his high school. Turned Wymack down and all but sprinted in the opposite direction. Only said yes when Wymack told him he was listed.

It's why Andrew's so intrigued. What poor kid without parents from west bumfuck, Arizona wouldn't jump at the chance to play on a sports scholarship at a D1 school? Only a runaway. And what poor kid without parents from west bumfuck, Arizona wouldn't jump at the chance to join the resistance?

Everyone wants to be a part of something. Everyone except Andrew, obviously, and yet here he is, stuck with the fanatics. 

Which means Josten might not just be running away from his parents. 

Andrew combs through Josten's file, trying to see what Kevin saw. It starts only a year ago in that shithole town in Arizona, Millport. No news of where he was before that except for a couple of obviously forged transcripts. Passport photo shows dark hair and dark eyes even though he was definitely wearing colored contacts when Andrew saw him earlier, which means the passport photo is a lie. Exy player like the rest of Wymack's picks. Striker. Just what Andrew needs, he thinks: another volatile fucking striker to deal with. As if making sure Kevin and Seth don't kill each other isn't already enough.

“What are you doing here?” Wymack says, face betraying no surprise when he finds Andrew breaking into his liquor cabinet the same way Andrew broke into his apartment and file cabinet a quarter of an hour ago. “If you get caught—”

“Who's the new kid?”

“Neil Josten,” Wymack says. “Millport, Arizona.” He hesitates. “I was going to leave this with Kevin, but I guessed you'd be here.” 

He guessed. Of course he did. He passes over the small orange bottle, and Andrew forces himself not to hold it too tightly. 

“Shady background, but he's quick. Resourceful, too. Adapts quickly. Can take a hit.” Wymack rummages around in a drawer. “Give him these.”

“How do you know he's trustworthy?” Andrew says, tucking the keys in his back pocket and popping one of the pills into his mouth. 

“That kid's completely alone, whatever his file says,” Wymack says. “Doesn't owe anyone anything. No loyalties anywhere. He could be loyal to us.”

“Or he could sell us out for his own safety.”

“I trust him,” Wymack says. “You trust me, whatever you say. Transitive property.”

Wymack always has been incredibly fucking naive, which makes no sense considering what he's seen in his life. 

“Why?” Andrew says. 

“Why what?”

“Why do you trust him?”

“Because he refused to come with me until I asked him if he wasn't tired of running away.”

“That could just as easily mean that he plans to sell us out. Then he could stop running.”

“You didn't see him, Andrew.”

Yep. Incredibly fucking naive. Andrew chooses a bottle from the cabinet and turns to leave.

“Minyard.”

Andrew stops but doesn't turn back around.

“Give him a week.”

“I'll give him what I give everyone else,” Andrew says.

Wymack is definitely trying to figure out how harshly he can respond without egging Andrew on. In the end, he decides on, “Don't kill this one.”

Andrew feels the smile twist his face. “Wouldn't dream of it,” he says.

*

There aren't many things Andrew likes about South Carolina—there aren't many things Andrew likes, period—but one of them is the summers, sticky hot and stifling in a way that shouldn't be comforting but somehow is.

He likes the sun, angry and bright, searing pink onto the back of his neck. He likes that he has to struggle to get enough oxygen into his lungs. He even likes the thunderstorms. 

It's during one such thunderstorm that Andrew sits on the roof with an umbrella over his head, knowing he's turning himself into an actual lightning rod and literally incapable of caring. He's there waiting for Neil to get back from his run—Andrew needs his answers, and Neil's going to give them to him whether he wants to or not—but also to get away from Kevin, who has been walking around twisting his hands together all day. Kevin wants to start working on Neil, thinks Andrew's being paranoid, thinks Andrew is more concerned with playing with his food before he eats it than he is with the rebellion.

Which is true. But unfair, also, because Andrew's there, isn't he, is keeping Kevin safe when he could be off living his life? 

Andrew balances the umbrella in front of him so he can light a cigarette under its guard. It's a struggle that has him gripping the umbrella under one arm and cupping his free hand around the end of the cigarette, and in the end he doesn't even get it properly lit. The shitty Bic evidently has no desire to spark in this mess. Andrew considers tossing it off the roof, but when he leans over, there's Neil down on the sidewalk, drenched, running back toward the building.

Andrew goes back inside and hurries down the stairs and outside to meet him. 

Neil doesn't look happy to see him, but he doesn't look surprised, either. He's in his typical “I could run off at any second” stance, though his chest is heaving more than usual, and his cheeks are flushed. He's so soaked that his clothing clings to him, which can't be comfortable. Andrew grins up at him from under his umbrella. 

“What?” Neil says. 

“I'm going to ask you for the last time,” Andrew says, “who are you?”

Neil affects a confused expression. “Neil,” he says. “We've met already.”

Andrew squints at Neil's face, examining those fake-dark eyes. Who is he hiding from? Is this disguise for their benefit, or someone else's?

“ _What_?” Neil says again.

“I'm trying to figure out if your nose grew,” Andrew says. “Because there's no way you're a real boy, Neil.”

The reference goes right over Neil's head, which is a shame. Andrew thinks it was funny.

“My nose doesn't grow,” Neil says. “Can I go back inside? I need to take a shower.”

“Don't you want to ask me?”

“Ask you what?”

“Who I am.”

“I know who you are,” Neil says. “Andrew Minyard. You have a record. Everyone knew you'd be listed. Kevin Day tried to recruit you, and you turned him down even though it would've probably saved your life, but after he disappeared, so did you.”

“He can read!” Andrew says. “What else can he do?” 

Neil stares at him. 

“I can read, too, Neil,” Andrew says. “That Tempe High School transcript in your file looks fake. If I faked my own transcripts, I'd give myself a 4.0, but you went for straight B's. Perfectly average.”

“What?” Neil says. There's something very broken record about him.

“Just like the dark hair and eyes,” Andrew says. “How many people on earth do you think look like you?”

Not many, Andrew thinks, but anonymity and invisibility are obviously what Neil's going for.

“You read my file,” Neil says, and then there's a switch and his new expression is some ugly combination of terror and righteous anger. “You had no right to read my file!”

Andrew laughs. “The Moriyamas had no right to rewrite the Constitution. Still did it.”

This does nothing to quell Neil's fear. It wasn't really supposed to, but this particular level of terror isn't what Andrew was expecting, especially considering how useless the file actually was. 

Then again, Andrew remembers how tightly Neil held on to his duffel bag in the dining hall that first night. The file is the one thing that might have information about him in it that Neil doesn't have possession of. Maybe that's why it was so unhelpful.

“You had no right,” Neil says. 

He looks around like he's going to take off even though there's nothing around them but more buildings and, beyond Palmetto's border, territory where he will almost certainly be captured. Right now he's wearing a face that says that might be preferable to this. 

Andrew reaches out, digs a finger into Neil's drenched collar and tugs a little so that Neil looks back at him. 

“Relax.” Andrew laughs a little. “Relax, relax, relax. All it told me is that you got a B-minus in trigonometry. Useless.”

Neil tears away from him. “Mind your own fucking business.”

“Oh, Neil,” Andrew says. “It _is_ my business. How else am I going to know what you thought of _A Tale of Two Cities_?”

“You don't care what I thought of _A Tale of Two Cities_.”

“No,” Andrew agrees cheerfully. Andrew didn't like that book—Sydney Carton had too much self-pity, and the writer didn't seem to understand the point of the French Revolution. Then again, neither did the French. “I care about why you're here, and why you didn't want to come. Who are you running away from, Neil Josten? Who are you?”

“I'm just Neil,” Neil says.

Kevin liked the book, though, keeps it on the shelf above his desk alongside _Les Miserables_ and _Doctor Zhivago_. Inspiration, he calls it. As if he'd ever have the guts to let himself be inspired.

Andrew takes another step toward Neil, knowing he's pushing it, and taps the tip of Neil's nose. “See?” Andrew says. “It grew.”

*

Fox Tower is an old college dorm on the outskirts of Palmetto State's deserted campus that's been repurposed for the South Carolina branch of the resistance. Some of them—the younger ones, the ones wanted by the federal government—live there, in the upstairs suites, but most members of the rebellion come and go, knowing they're under watch by the government but not caring because of Palmetto's status as a shelter city.

(Shelter city, one of the many words and phrases entered into the lexicon after the Moriyamas took power: a city that refuses to comply with federal indictments and then had its federal and state funding stripped away. It's an attempt to starve shelter cities out, a war of attrition, so that the government can look benevolent when the shelter cities finally give in. Palmetto is mostly deserted now. Some other shelter cities—L.A. is the biggest one left—are thriving.)

The basement has been completely remodeled, so that there's a shooting range, a gym, and several padded rooms just for sparring. Beneath it is the much more hidden strategy room—every wall is a whiteboard or a computer monitor, and there's a table in the center like the White House situation room. It takes an extra key to get in, and not many of them have it on their keychains. Kevin has one. Dan, obviously. Neil's supposed to have been given one on Kevin's orders, but Andrew still has it, on that little ring with all the keys he's supposed to have given Neil by now. 

At the moment, Andrew is concerned with the suites. Josten shares a room with Boyd and Gordon, because Wymack has either a stroke of paranoia about safety in numbers or lingering sentimental tendencies that make him think they'll all be happier together. Happiness only real when shared and all that.

The door to their suite is locked, which is typical for when none of them are home. What's not typical is that the door to their bedroom is locked as well.

Picking the lock is simple. College dorms aren't designed with privacy in mind. All it takes is a click, two clicks, and he's in.

Josten barely has any shit. His side of the room features a bunk covered in the same standard issue blue sheets the rest of them have; a set of three drawers, two of which are empty, one of which contains a pitiful collection of colorless oversized clothing; standard-issue desk with bookshelf over it, no books except the copy of _1984_ Gordon likes to give everyone when they arrive due to what Wymack calls his “sick sense of humor” and what Andrew calls his faint grasp on irony; and an array of toiletries packed into a shower caddy and tucked into his closet amid a little more colorless clothing, all washed out blues and grays and khaki greens like he thinks he can fade in the background, like everyone about him doesn't scream _look at me_. His duffel bag is pushed into a corner under his bed, but it's empty. There's a gun tucked under his pillow, but it's standard issue, the same kind all of them have and few of them actually keep handy.

There aren't many places he could be hiding things, so Andrew returns to the dresser and sifts through his clothing.

Jackpot. There's a binder tucked in beneath his depression not-so-chic wardrobe, and when Andrew opens it, confirmation of all his suspicions. Photographs of the Moriyamas at the height of their power, Kevin and Riko shunted off to the side, heads of the military meant to make the state look strong and unnecessary for anything else. Clippings of Kevin and Riko, more Kevin than Riko, a few pictures of Jean Moreau. Quotes Kevin gave years ago. Too many stories about his destroyed hand. One or two about his fleeing the Nest. _Where is Kevin Day now?_ _Lt. General Kevin Day Gives Speech, Questions Morality of Moriyama Political Organization._ _Did Kevin Day Just Accidentally Say We Should Give Democracy Another Try?_ _Lt. General Kevin Day Honorably Discharged with Career-Ending Hand Injury._ _Kevin Day Injured while Skiing, Sources Say._

Tucked between the clippings is—money. Dollars, pounds, Euros. Lists of locations. Seemingly random letters and numbers written in untidy handwriting on notebook paper. 

So Josten's a spy. No surprise there. Kevin always has been a fucking idiot. There are no other explanations, except that he's either obsessed with Kevin or fucking nuts. He'll fit right in if it's the latter, Andrew thinks, rubbing at the chapped corner of his mouth.

He told Wymack he wouldn't dream of killing the new kid. It's true—Andrew rarely dreams. But if it comes to it, he'll separate Josten's head from his body to protect Kevin from this latest Moriyama tool. 

He just needs to figure him out first.

*

The objective of the resistance is twofold: First, to sow discord and distrust in the government while resisting its brutally repressive policies. Second, to actually rebel, to take down the Moriyamas in order to re-establish the closest thing to a functional democracy they can. There are political theory experts—among them Kevin, whose obsession with the concept of vox populi is what almost got him killed by Riko Moriyama in the first place—trying to figure out a new system, but building one from scratch is no easy feat. Andrew thinks it's unlikely anything will ever work. They've tried it, and it failed.

They're trained in political theory—a demand of Kevin's—but they're trained in actual training, too. Everyone learns how to use a variety of weapons and lifts to build muscle. Everyone studies, too, but Andrew doesn't need to read _Democracy in America_ more than once to decide the entire thing seems to have been written with trademark French sneer—and anyway, he harbors no illusions about what they're all supposed to be. Foot soldiers don't need to read Sun Tzu. Kevin might be obsessed with bringing power to the people, but Andrew knows his purpose. Kill or be killed. Protect your own, and only your own.

The Foxes are lucky in a way—maybe only in this way—because unlike some of the other resistance bunkers across the country, they don't need to outsource their trainers. Renee tutors everyone in knife-work; Kevin, despite his one mangled hand, leads them in actual military-grade weaponry; Matt, whose mother was a boxer, teaches them all the tricks they'll need in hand-to-hand combat. Wymack comes by once a week to discuss updates and strategy with them, and Abby shows up whenever they need her to, but Aaron's EMT training tends to be enough for most of their relatively minor scrapes and strains. 

Renee and Andrew spar on their own, too, dirty, more like a real fight than the usual clinical cutting of the meat that's going to end up in everyone's dinner. Renee is coming at him now, but she's too slow for Andrew when he's high, and even if he can't focus on much he can certainly react when someone has a knife in one hand and a reflection of his own deadened insides in their eyes. 

“Are you sure,” she says, twisting her arm out of his grasp, “that it's a good idea?”

“It's the only way to figure out anything about him,” Andrew says. “Too many people watching him here. There, it's just us and the drugs.”

“You know I do not endorse drugging someone against their will.”

“And yet you believe the ends justify the means.”

“Do I?” Renee says, catching Andrew off-guard enough to shove her elbow into his ribcage. 

“You agree there's something shady about him.”

“None of us have clean records.”

“The difference is I know what's on everyone else's records.” Andrew considers that trapped animal look of Neil's, like a bear caught in the woods. “His is forged, and he is obsessed with Kevin.”

“We can ask Allison,” Renee says, and it ends up being their next stop.

Allison is waiting for them in the strategy room, dressed in head to toe black like an actual spy even when they all know her public facade has her in short dresses and towering heels. Due to some combination of nepotism and competence, she's a high level Moriyama operative, her father one of the many oligarchs at the Moriyamas' beck and call. 

Luckily, she's also got a rebellious streak to rival any of the Foxes', and she's been slipping them information for two years—and she's close enough with Renee that she agrees to sit down with Andrew before her meeting with Wymack and Dan. 

“What do you know about Neil?” Renee says. “All we have is his name, and his paperwork is all faked.”

“His name isn't real,” Andrew says.

“I'll look him up,” Allison says, “but it's unlikely there'll be much. I keep track of everything the Moriyamas have on the Foxes, and there's nothing on Josten at all yet, not even that he's here. Just that he's listed and missing.”

“But he only got here a week ago,” Renee says. “Maybe they have yet to figure it out.”

“I'll keep you posted.” Allison glances at the door. “How's Seth holding up?”

“Once a junkie, always a junkie,” Andrew says cheerfully.

Allison shoots him a murderous look. “Don't you understand how asking for favors from people works?”

“Not really.”

“I'll give you a hint. You're not supposed to act like a complete asshole in the process.”

“He's fine,” Renee cuts in. “I know he wishes you were around more.”

“That's bullshit, Renee.” There's a hard edge to Allison's smile. “You're not supposed to lie to me.”

Renee is saved from responding by Wymack's entrance.

“Andrew, Renee—we won't need you two today,” he says. “The rest of the Foxes are upstairs.”

“Neil too?” Renee says. 

“I just saw him come in from a run.” He frowns. “Does that kid do anything else? He's not going to gain any muscle if he's running off everything he eats.”

“I can kneecap him if you want,” Andrew chirps. 

“Don't kill the new kid, Andrew,” Wymack says, sounding tired.

“Kneecapping wouldn't—”

“Don't shoot the new kid, Andrew,” Wymack says. 

Andrew grins at him. “Yes, sir.”

“Jesus, Andrew. Get out.”

Andrew gets out.

*

Andrew's smoking a cigarette out the window of their suite's living room, ignoring Kevin's dirty looks, when the door bursts open.

“Hi, Neil,” Nicky says, then switches to German and looks at Aaron. “Wasn't that locked?”

“I don't know. Did you lock it?”

Josten is clearly furious. He looks from Aaron to Nicky, blinking in incomprehension, then snarls, “Stay out of my things.”

“Or what?” Andrew says. “Are you going to tell Coach Wymack on us?”

“I'll skip a step and just kill you myself.”

That's interesting. No good spy would threaten their mark's bodyguard unless they wanted to replace the bodyguard, and the way Josten's eyes are darting from Andrew to Kevin and back again right now, livid, isn't exactly a good advertisement for that.

Andrew laughs. “Feisty,” he says, and is almost surprised when Neil makes a beeline for him.

Neil is faster than Andrew, but Andrew is stronger and smarter. He dodges Neil—good, as they're right in front of the window and the drop is enough to make Andrew queasy if he focuses—takes a single punch to the face, then slams Neil against the wall by his neck. Neil tries to knee him, but Andrew is too strong for him.

“That's the thing about runners,” Andrew says. “They never spend enough time with weights.”

Neil's fingernails dig into his forearm until Andrew loosens his hold.

“Fuck you,” Neil says. “Don't go through my things.”

Andrew laughs. “Who says it was me? You have two roommates and both of them are addicts. Maybe they just wanted to rob you blind.”

“That's not a denial.”

“Would you believe me if it was?”

“Would you?” Neil shoots back.

Andrew cocks his head to the side, grinning. The kid is mouthy, but he has the wild-eyed look of someone ready to run. Shouldn't he be trying to keep a low profile?

“I wouldn't believe a thing out of your mouth,” Andrew says, backing away. “Get out of my room, _Neil_.”

“No, fuck you, I don't think I've gotten my point across—”

This time, Andrew catches Neil's wrist as he swings. “Leave or I'll make you,” he says cheerfully, flashing a knife that immediately makes Neil startle, a little surprising considering the kid can take a hit. “Don't come back here without an invite.”

Andrew lets go of Neil's wrist. He shoves Andrew as he slinks past. Andrew is still grinning. He picks up his abandoned cigarette and re-lights the end, ignoring the eyes everyone in his room has on him.

“What was that about?” Nicky says, always the first to bite.

“Looks like Kevin's new toy is as problematic as the rest of us,” Andrew says cheerfully. “He's wearing colored contacts, did you notice? We should take him out with us and find out what's under them.”

“'Take him out' like we took Matt out?” Nicky says. “Don't think so. Wymack'll send us to the Moriyamas for sure.”

“His bleeding heart will not allow him to,” Andrew says. “Especially not him.” He gestures to Kevin with his cigarette. 

“Just hurry up, whatever you need to do,” Kevin says. “We need to get him up to speed.”

“This weekend,” Andrew decides, ignoring Aaron's groan in response. Still hasn't learned what's good for him, Andrew supposes. 

“Ten bucks says he breaks in about twenty seconds,” Aaron says. 

“No, didn't you see him hit Andrew? I give him five minutes at least.”

“Ten,” Kevin says, which is a surprise since these aren't usually his kinds of bets. 

“Andrew, over-under on how long it takes you to break him?” Nicky says.

“I could just draw it out,” Andrew says. “Not ethical for me to get involved in this bet.”

He thinks Kevin's right, anyway. Neil is strong, but he's strong like reinforced glass—if he breaks at all, he'll shatter at too heavy an impact. Which is exactly what Andrew intends to give him.

*

Neil is eating dinner with the rest of them when Andrew finds him.

“Neil!” he says delightedly, grinning at everyone's complete lack of delight upon seeing him. He settles in across from Neil, craving a cigarette or something else to do with his hands. “I expected you to be halfway to Miami by now. I hear they're very critical of the Moriyamas down there.”

Under Dan's eye, Neil dutifully ignores him, which is no fun.

“What we talked about earlier,” Andrew says. “Your little privacy obsession. I've decided we can sort it out.”

Neil puts his bland food into his bland mouth and does not turn his wannabe bland face toward Andrew. 

“You're coming out with us this weekend.”

The reaction is immediate, but it doesn't start with Neil. It's Dan who slams down her fork, says, “No,” Matt who says, “No, he's not,” Renee who meets Andrew's eyes over her dinner and doesn't say anything. 

“If I come with you, you leave me alone,” Neil says. 

“If you survive us, you can keep your things to yourself,” Andrew says. 

Dan looks at Andrew's black eye, then back at Neil. There's bruising on his neck, mostly hidden by the collar of his shirt, but she's sharper than she looks. 

“He went through your things?” Dan says. “Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you lock the door?”

“I did lock the door,” Neil says. 

Andrew smiles lazily at Dan. He can tell what she's feeling right now—pissed on Neil's behalf, violated on his behalf, but violated on her own behalf also. People think locks keep them safe, forgetting that the types of people who want to hurt you will always have the tools to do it. Locks delay the inevitable, and if you're as good at picking them as Andrew is, they don't even delay it by much.

“Friday,” Andrew says. “We're going to Eden's Twilight.”

“That's a bad idea, Neil,” Matt says. 

“I know,” Neil says, but he's going. Everything about him makes it clear. Maybe Andrew's misinterpreted the “danger” signs he sees hanging around Neil—he's not the dangerous one, he'll just lead you in that direction because he's stupid enough to go there himself. 

Andrew wasn't expecting it. When Kevin zeroed in on him, this kid from some shithole town in the middle of nowhere, Arizona, Andrew thought he'd either be feral or Kevin in miniature, blathering on about political ideals while half-scared of his own shadow. 

But he isn't. He didn't want to be here, but he hasn't left. He's a runaway who wants to stay put. Even after he knew he was listed, he didn't want the relative safety of Palmetto, and yet here he is, sitting with Renee's lot, eating some bland meal.

The people the Moriyamas choose are mostly random, unless society cares so little about them that it won't notice if they're gone. Partly, it's a way to keep parents on their toes, ensure they don't act against the administration lest their children end up enlisted to fight in its endless wars. Partly it's a way to fill their militaries with cheap, replaceable soldiers and not care if they die or not.

It could be awful, dumb luck that Neil was on that list. Andrew was on it because of his past, obviously. Most foster kids are. Aaron was there because of his dead mother and his stint in rehab. Nicky was random, supposedly, except his two non-contributing cousins and his two hateful parents and their love of conversion therapy couldn't have helped.

But if there's anything Andrew knows, it's that coincidence doesn't exist. If Neil were more parts truth to lie, if he didn't have that creepy binder, if Kevin hadn't handpicked him, if he didn't reek of some odd form of desperation—then maybe Andrew would be able to let this one go, let him fade into the background with the rest of them. 

But Neil Josten is no coincidence. Kevin's very own personal fucking Chosen One, sitting here looking like a lie that's going to tear itself apart. Andrew's cheeks are sore from his plastered-on smile. Neil looks half-murderous, half-terrified, and Andrew can't help but find that funny.

“We're making a deal,” Neil says, in sudden, vicious German. Everyone looks at him, shocked, even Andrew.

But Andrew laughs. “What a fun surprise,” he says. “What's the deal?”

“I go with you to your club or whatever, and when we're back, you leave me alone. No more going through my things. No more harassing me or sending Nicky to do it. I no longer exist as far as you're concerned.”

“Neil, Neil, Neil,” Andrew says. “I don't care about your existence. I only care about Kevin.”

It's Neil's turn to look surprised, but he doesn't elaborate on why.

“Friday,” he says. 

“Friday,” Andrew says.

As he's leaving, he hears Neil's friends ask him where he learned to speak German. Andrew's more interested in why he's been keeping it a secret until now—but, he supposes, he can wait to find out until Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to post the first three chapters as I finish editing them (so within the next few days), and then chapters will be spaced out about a week apart. This fic is about 75% written and was my original Big Bang idea, but I ended up hating it, but I hate the idea of not posting it when I have so much written more, so I went through and cut out the stuff that wasn't working and added new things. I hope you like it!
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com) | [main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com)). Please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo (or an error in continuity/plothole, which is probably due to the amount of times I've changed stuff around, please let me know if you notice these)!
> 
> Andrew references Sartre's No Exit, Pinocchio, Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities, and Krakauer's Into the Wild. The title is a reference to David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, which I have not read.


	2. Chapter 2

Because they're supposed to be some kind of socialist utopia, they split up all the work—cleaning, cooking, keeping guard—and organize it with, of all things, a chore wheel.

Tonight is Andrew's turn to keep guard, and he happens to be partnered with Dan. It's not the worst partner to have because she doesn't try to talk to him; instead, she mostly just watches the video feeds and plays games on her phone.

Or at least, that's what she usually does.

“I know what you get up to in Columbia,” Dan says. “It's not like with Matt. Neil isn't an addict. It's not like with me, because you wanted me to prove something to you. What is your issue with him?”

“Dan, Dan, Dan with the plan,” Andrew says, drumming his fingers on the table. There's nothing of interest on the screens in front of him. “Can't you tell? Neil is an optical illusion. Name one thing you know about him.”

“Who cares?” Dan says. “You don't give a shit about Seth's past, or Renee's for that matter. He's just some listed kid.”

“If he is just some listed kid, then he will be fine,” Andrew says, turning to smile at her. He doesn't miss that tiny recoil, like she's scared he's going to stab her in the throat at any moment for disagreeing with him.

He doesn't miss that she doesn't back down, either. 

“If you hurt him, Andrew, we will get rid of the four of you. I don't care if Kevin has connections. They haven't done shit for us so far. Wymack might have a soft spot for Kevin, but not if it keeps getting the rest of us hurt.”

Andrew cradles his chin in his hand and looks up at her. “Threaten Kevin again, and you will not live long enough to regret it.”

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, and goes back to playing a game on her phone.

*

“So he's coming?” Nicky says the next morning, grinning. “Awesome. Finally get to introduce some new people to this dysfunctional little friend group of ours.”

“As long as this lets me get to work on him,” Kevin says. “He has potential, but he has so much to learn if he is going to help me overthrow the Moriyamas.”

“Please, haven't you seen him?” Aaron says. “That kid has no love for the people. Not that I blame him, but—” 

“This is why you are useless to the Foxes,” Kevin says. “When you talk like this, you hold all of us back.”

“Okay, Kevin,” Aaron says. “If you're so obsessed with the people, why work for the Moriyamas for so long?”

Kevin flinches. “You do not understand. It wasn't a choice.”

“Or maybe you just thought they were right,” Aaron says. “If the people were stupid enough to put the Moriyamas into power, maybe they didn't deserve all those hard-won freedoms and rights.”

“And they _were_ stupid enough to put the Moriyamas into power,” Andrew says, mainly to laugh at the look on Kevin's face. “So they didn't deserve all those hard-won freedoms and rights.” 

“No,” Kevin says. “Maybe I thought that when I was young, before I knew any better, but—” He looks toward his bookshelf, its stock of banned books, political theory and things about the afore-mentioned freedoms and rights and power to the people, all that bullshit that likes to pretend that if you give enough power to the wrong people it won't always end like this. “It's wrong. We are all the people. Making one poor choice shouldn't damn you.”

“Deep, Kev,” Nicky says, somewhat appreciative. 

Their naivety makes Andrew gag.

*

“I don't trust him,” Andrew says.

“You don't trust the others, but you live with them,” Betsy says. 

They're at his therapy session in Bee's other office in Columbia—she has two, one set up just for the Foxes in Fox Tower and one in Columbia; if she can't make it to him, they usually video conference, but Andrew needed to argue his case in person. Andrew doesn't like leaving Kevin behind when he comes to Columbia, so Kevin is here, too, wearing a hoodie and sunglasses and tucked into a spare office with designated driver Nicky.

“I trust them not to strangle Kevin in the middle of the night,” Andrew says. “You haven't seen everything he has on Kevin. It's like he's some kind of stalker.”

“He seemed sweet to me,” Betsy says.

“Yeah, well, you have a thing for lost causes, and I'm sure every word out of his mouth was a lie.”

“You know I can't talk about our meeting.”

“It doesn't matter,” Andrew says. “None of it was true. You know that song? Oh, he's a little a runaway?”

“I'm not familiar,” Betsy says. She pauses. “Maybe he just needs a friend.”

He can tell what she's getting at. He almost always can.

“I don't have friends.”

“Then maybe you need a friend.”

“Is that my assignment?” Andrew says, examining his fingernails and smiling at the thought of his weekend plans. “Befriend the new kid?”

“Why not get to know him?” Betsy says. “Find out one new thing about him. Tell him one new thing about yourself. That's how most friendships start, right?”

“He is going to get us all killed,” Andrew says, smiling lazily. “Are you sure you can't say he failed his psych eval and kick him out? You're the only one Wymack will listen to.”

“Come on, Andrew,” Betsy says, smile almost wry. “You know I can't do that.”

“You can,” Andrew says. “You just won't.”

“I can't,” Betsy says. “And I won't.” 

He know she'd say that. “Oh, Bee.” He looks exaggeratedly at the clock. “Whoops, looks like our time's up! See you next week.”

“Have a good weekend, Andrew,” Betsy says. “Stay safe.”

Andrew grins. “Always.”

*

“Maybe we should've brought Neil with us,” Nicky says, picking through the bag of clothes they chose for him at the old mall in Columbia. “But you're right, he probably would've picked, like, khakis. Or more jean shorts.” He shudders at the thought.

“Just give them to him,” Andrew says, thrusting the shoebox at Nicky's chest. “Tell him not to wear the contacts, either.” He wants to look Neil in the eye when he breaks him. No barriers between them—not contact lenses, not Andrew's medication. 

“Did you know he speaks German?” Nicky says, pawing through the clothing and grinning appreciatively. “Apparently better than yours? Everyone thinks he must be some kind of prodigy.”

Andrew laughs. Neil has no idea how he comes off to normal people. 

“Poor fuck thinks he's blending in,” Nicky says, shaking his head. “As if anyone could, looking like that. What color do you think his eyes actually are?”

“They could be rainbow and shoot lasers for all I care,” Andrew says. “What I want to know is why he's wearing the contacts.”

“Isn't that obvious?” Aaron says. “He's running away from something. We should just leave him in Columbia and hope he gets himself killed. He's obviously more trouble than he's worth.”

Andrew dutifully ignores him, but Aaron knows better than to expect a response from Andrew by now. It's Nicky who replies, saying something about how some people wear colored contacts for their aesthetic appeal and not everything has to be a conspiracy. 

That's true, Andrew supposes, digging through his own wardrobe for something to wear. But Neil Josten wouldn't know aesthetic appeal if it shoved him up against a wall, which means his dyed hair and colored contacts—obviously chosen to make him blend in—must have some practical use.

Again, it doesn't matter. He'll find out soon enough.

*

Sobriety is heavy in the back of Andrew's head, more fog than clarity these days, fog and then the roiling nausea of withdrawal. He can stave it off for a bit with crackers and alcohol, and he's going to have to tonight. He wants to get this done sober—or as close as he gets these days.

Eden's Twilight is in Columbia, which means it's always a risk to drive out there. It's not a shelter city like Palmetto—instead, Columbia's shelter status is more of an open secret. Few people there will turn you in even if your name and face have been plastered across TV screens like half the Foxes' have, but they claim to comply with government raids and as such still have nice roads and functioning school systems. 

Nicky drives them in with his usual recklessness. Next to him, Kevin is staring out the passenger window. Without his meds keeping him on edge, Andrew lets the fog overtake him, sinks into sleep.

He's woken up by Nicky needing directions, hits out at whatever's next to him, and groans at the pounding in his head.

“Nicky, pull over.”

“We're in the middle of the highway.”

“ _Pull over_.” 

Nicky swerves randomly, causing horns to blare behind them, but Andrew barely notices: he pushes the door open before the car has even come to a full stop and hangs out of it to throw up. 

There's nothing in his stomach, and the dry heaving tears his throat open. He closes his eyes, grits his teeth to steady himself, wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve, and settles back into his seat.

“You can go,” Andrew says.

“Are you—”

“ _Go_.”

Kevin is watching him in his mirror. Andrew thinks about the orange prescription bottle Kevin has in his pocket. If he wanted it, he'd only have to reach a bit. He bets he can cut it out of Kevin's jacket without Kevin even noticing.

He wills his attention elsewhere. Neil sits stiffly between Andrew and Aaron, looking deeply uncomfortable in the clothing Andrew made him wear out—but really, is Andrew supposed to let him come to a nice club wearing his baggy jeans and colorless t-shirts? It's embarrassing. There's a dress code. 

He's not wearing his contacts, either. Beneath them, his eyes are ice-blue, striking against his tan skin and bad attempts to fade into the background. The black clothing brings them out, too, Andrew thinks, admiring the effect. It's a good distraction from the nausea.

“What?” Neil says. Even his voice sounds rigid. The tone of someone with something—a lot of somethings—to hide.

Andrew smiles, letting himself be amused as the last of his meds sweat their way out of his system. “Just can't wait to know everything there is about you,” he says.

“I'm not going to say a word,” Neil says. “Torture me all you want.”

“Relax, Neil,” Nicky says, looking at him in the rearview. “He's just fucking with you. Eden's Twilight is just a nightclub.”

By the looks of it, this poor attempt at comfort has no effect on Neil. He just sits there, spine inflexible, fingers twisting together in his lap, until they arrive. 

He doesn't have a fake ID, which isn't a surprise, but Andrew, Aaron, and Nicky worked here before they joined the resistance, which means they're swept in without much effort, greeted cheerfully by the staff, and seated at their usual spot. Nicky hands out crackers, and Andrew does as many as he needs to keep himself just tweaked enough to function.

Predictably, Neil turns them down. That's fine. They can just put some in his drinks.

He turns the drinks down, too, which is also predictable. He even casts suspicious looks at the soda Andrew passes him, which is hilarious, because even though he's right to be wary, he's still going to get those crackers in his system somehow. They go through several rounds of this before Andrew decides he needs to speed things up a bit.

“Drink up, runaway,” he says. “You'll need the energy.”

“Come on, Neil, don't be boring,” Nicky says. “Don't you trust us?”

“Not even a little bit,” Neil says, but he lifts the glass.

“Kevin!” 

The voice that rings out is all wrong. Andrew feels for the knife tucked into the sheath on his ankle—the armband ones are last resorts, too intimate to use as threats—and looks up.

Jean Moreau looks as severe as ever, all widow's peak and disapproving glare, like a schoolteacher out of a cliché film about British boarding schools. Except that he's twenty instead of middle-aged, and severity looks more like a hedgehog's protective spines on him than an attempt at discipline.

It's unusual for Jean to be alone. Ravens—Riko Moriyama's elite fighting force—never travel alone. They're chosen as pairs, brought up that way. Jean himself will have been Riko's punching bag in recent months, as he slotted right into Kevin's spot at Riko's side. 

“Jean,” Kevin says. 

Andrew looks at Kevin. He's been hyper-attuned to Kevin's emotions for months now, can always spot the difference between standard terrified Kevin and extremely terrified Kevin, but this is the first time Kevin's been in the same room as a Raven in almost a year. That it's Jean instead of Riko is small comfort; whatever he says, Andrew knows Kevin regrets leaving Jean behind even though it was a vital move to ensure his own survival. Riko must know it, too. This is a planned barb, a guilt trip. That's why Jean's sporting a black eye that his skin isn't quite dark enough to hide, why he's in street clothes instead of his usual military strip, why his gang is hanging back as if it isn't obvious to everyone in the club that those are Moriyama people, incapable of looking realistically relaxed.

Jean makes a plea to Kevin. Andrew doesn't listen to the words, only the tone: half condescension, half fake worry for Kevin's life. He can feel Kevin next to him, knee-deep in his usual battle between pavlovian training to follow orders and instinct to keep himself alive at any cost.

“Why would you want him back?” Neil says. 

Andrew had almost forgotten about him. He's glaring up at Jean on Andrew's other side, body ready for a fight, drink still undrunk on the table in front of him. 

“Who is this?” Jean says, directing the question at Kevin. “You do not need another pet, but Riko is—”

“He puts you back in third, doesn't he?” Neil says. “What's wrong? Don't want to be Riko's right-hand man anymore?”

Jean looks at him, and for a moment Andrew can see the torture beneath his disdainful exterior. 

“It is not about my place,” Jean says. “It is about where Kevin belongs, and whom he belongs with.” 

“You mean 'to,'” Neil says. “Right? Who he belongs to? Which is Riko? The Moriyamas?” Neil laughs, a dry, bitter sound Andrew hasn't heard before. “He's not going anywhere. He's a Fox, and you can tell Riko that Kevin's going to be the person who takes him down. Look around, Jean. You're in enemy territory, and it's only growing larger. You can't keep getting people's children killed in your bullshit war and expect them to go along with it out of fear for much longer. What better poster boy could the resistance possibly have than the man Riko called his brother in public and abused in private?” He rests his chin on his hand, looking up at Jean through eyelashes several shades lighter than his ink-black hair. “I think you need to fuck off back to your keeper and let him know Kevin isn't interested.” 

Next to Andrew, Kevin says, “Go away, Jean,” his voice low. Andrew forces himself not to show surprise. If Jean were here a month ago and asked Kevin the same question—come back, Riko wants you back, the master wants you back, you won't be the same but come back anyway—Kevin would have gone in an instant. 

“None of you will survive this,” Jean says. It doesn't sound threatening. It only sounds resigned. 

Once he and the people he brought with him disappear, Andrew springs into action.

“Get up,” he says. “We are leaving.” 

In a sense, it's lucky that Jean showed up so early in the night: Aaron and Nicky are still at the table, Nicky snagging Aaron's wrist to get him to hang back for extra drinks before they went off to dance. No one is as drunk as they usually get by the end of an evening at Eden's. But Andrew is frustrated anyway. His deal with Neil was one trip to Eden's Twilight, which means when they're back on campus, he loses his opportunity to interrogate him.

But tonight has only made Andrew more curious. What was that defense of Kevin? An attempt to demonstrate his loyalty to the rest of them? Or was it genuine?

“I'm driving,” Neil says, nudging Nicky for the keys to Andrew's car. “The rest of you are drunk and high, but I haven't had a thing despite your best efforts, so—”

“Andrew doesn't let anyone—” Nicky says, but Neil snatches the keys anyway.

“I did not just risk my life telling Jean Moreau to fuck off so Andrew Minyard's possessiveness could get me killed in a fucking car wreck,” Neil says. “Andrew, let me drive.”

It's phrased like an order, but it goes up at the end, like a question. Andrew's intrigued. No one ever asks to drive his car, other than Kevin's pointed comments when they have to wait for Nicky to finish getting ready to take them somewhere. Renee drives it sometimes, when she needs it, but other than that it's just Nicky and Andrew.

He's fascinating, this Neil character. He feels only half-real to Andrew, even halfway between sober and not, like there isn't any way he could possibly exist. He's too much of a mess. It doesn't make any sense for him to risk his life and then be so anal retentive about driving, and yet—it's a weekend night, and the rest of them _are_ drunk and cracker high, and while Andrew knows his limits, Neil looks like if they don't put him in the front seat he's going to put those keys through their eyes and take off anyway.

Andrew shrugs. He has his knives, and if Neil tries to go anywhere other than to Palmetto, he won't survive for long enough to flick on the turn signal. “You'd better be able to afford the extra insurance if you get us in an accident.”

“You don't still pay for—” Neil says, but then he stops, leads the way out of the club while Andrew pushes Kevin forward, willing him to just fucking move.

“Do you even know how to drive?” Aaron says when they get into the car and Neil sits for a minute, motionless, instead of starting it.

“Fuck you,” Neil says, turning the key in the ignition and veering out of the parking lot too sharply.

“Oh shit,” Nicky says. “You really don't know how to drive.”

“Shut up,” Neil says. “It's just been a while.”

It quickly becomes evident that this, at least, is not a lie. Neil drives with the assuredness of someone who's done it before and the confidence of someone who never has to take more than one look at a map to figure out where he's going. But also, Andrew notes, seeing Neil's too-tight grip on the steering wheel, with the anxiety of someone who has some serious goddamn issues.

In the back, Andrew's curiosity and that bone-deep need to protect Kevin battle with the cruel reality of his failure at doing so effectively. They frequent Eden's Twilight, but they stagger their trips, try not to create any discernible patterns—Jean knowing they'd show up there means Kevin has even more surveillance on him than they thought.

Which means Andrew hasn't been vigilant enough. He promised Kevin this wouldn't happen, and yet he knows that if Neil hadn't been there to say exactly the right things at exactly the right moment, Kevin would've pranced off to rejoin the Ravens and probably ended up leading the raid on Fox Tower himself as punishment.

Andrew is unused to feeling. He doesn't like it. His medication is there, so close he can taste it. He's staring at the back of Kevin's head so hard he wouldn't be surprised if he suddenly developed heat-vision and just fucking melted it. 

It wouldn't be bad. He skipped a dose tonight, which means he has an extra pill, so he wouldn't even have to get more sooner. He won't be able to sleep, and it'll throw off his whole schedule for a couple of days, but he can deal with it if he can just stifle all of this, shove it down, not have to feel it—because wasn't that the whole problem in the first place, _feeling_ , and the extent of his rage is only fueling his panic, because to feel rage like this at himself, endless, is _deadly_ , has to be, and it's like Jean's appearance keyed into the beer can of his fury and he's just waiting for someone to pop the top, shotgunned sheer fucking anger.

He can't take the pill. If he does, he'll face Neil with that fucking smile on his face, and he won't get anything out of him. Neil needs to talk to the real Andrew, and the real Andrew hasn't laughed in years. 

Andrew watches him in the rearview. Neil isn't paying any attention to him, both hands on the wheel, both eyes trained forward. He's driving almost as fast as Nicky did. Again: predictable.

Neil is a runaway. To the government, Neil is nothing. He has no skills, isn't in college, isn't marketable, doesn't seem to want to go military. That he was listed is either a stroke of bad luck or indication that he's more than he seems. That they haven't come looking for him indicates that he's nothing.

He's nothing to Andrew, too, but to Kevin he's an anchor, and if Kevin's the boat, Andrew's the sails. Or maybe it's the other way around. Andrew doesn't like metaphors much. Needlessly deceptive language. It's why no one gets the Tocqueville.

Neil parks in Andrew's usual spot when they arrive, deposits Nicky's keys back in his hand, and makes a beeline for his room. Andrew doesn't bother to follow him—Neil is clearly about to have a panic attack, and, well, frankly, so is Andrew.

Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin follow Andrew into their own suite, and for a millisecond Andrew wishes they wouldn't. But without him, they'd all probably be dead by now, and if he takes his eye off them for even a second, they'll probably get themselves fucking kidnapped or something, and if only he'd been paying more attention—

He doesn't notice he's put his fist through the window until he hits the screen. It probably saves the rest of his arm, because it only takes a moment for his knuckles to start bleeding profusely. He picks the shards of glass out methodically.

“Andrew? Are you—oh, fuck, why—”

“Ask Matt if he can fix this,” Andrew says, gesturing to the shattered window. “And get Neil.”

He's rinsed the hand and a good deal of the blood off in the bathroom sink, dug his cigarettes and gun out of his drawer, and returned to the window sill to smoke by the time Nicky comes back, Neil in tow. Andrew was definitely right about Neil, who has the wild kind of look in his eyes Andrew's seen him get a few times now. A cornered animal.

“Matt went to bed when we got here,” Nicky says. He waited up for Neil. How sweet. “But Neil's still up. Still blue-eyed, too. Here.”

Neil casts an indecipherable glance at Andrew's bloodied fist, then looks back up at Andrew. “Scar tissue on knuckles makes it harder to handle weapons.”

What does he know about handling weapons? He's been here one fucking week. 

Andrew blows smoke out the window. “Leave us alone, Nicky.”

“We had an agreement,” Neil says once Nicky's made himself scarce.

“Our night was cut short,” Andrew says. Besides, he never agreed to Neil's terms. “We have time to kill.”

“What do you want?”

“Who are you?”

“I'm the man who just stopped Kevin from running away with Jean,” Neil says. “So maybe you should be thanking me instead of interrogating me.”

“Why not leave us all to die, steal the car, and go home?” Andrew says. “Your friends would all be pleased to be rid of us.”

“I couldn't let him go back,” Neil says.

“It's time for answers, then,” Andrew says. “What is your obsession with Kevin? Who are you really, Neil Josten?”

Neil contemplates him. Andrew watches, unmoved by the intensity of Neil's gaze.

“You're sober,” Neil says. “You didn't take your meds tonight. Why?”

“I wanted the real Neil to meet the real Andrew,” Andrew says. He gestures to himself, then points at Neil. “See, I was honest with you. Now you be honest with me.”

“I ran away because I didn't like my parents,” Neil says. It's bullshit, and it's not even convincing. There's no way he's survived this long if he's always been this bad a liar—but then, is that an ounce of reluctance? “They were into the Moriyama propaganda shit, all of it, which is why I have that binder. Nostalgia's sake.”

“You seem to be under the impression that I won't kill you,” Andrew says. The sympathetic friend angle might work if he were Renee, but he isn't. “You have two choices. Tell me who you are, or die.”

Neil doesn't look like he believes him, but Andrew had an elaborate plan for drugging Neil and forcing the answers out of him that didn't require him to resort to petty threats. It's not his fault Riko's pet ruined his fun.

Andrew feels neutral about guns, but he's been warned by one too many therapists that he's too “volatile” on medication to be left alone with them. He's sober now, though, dizzyingly so, and he tugs his gun out of his holster and points it at Neil.

Neil doesn't flinch. He looks wary, but he doesn't flinch. Interesting. Guns aren't new to him, then. The knife that startled Neil the other day might've been more effective, or it might've made him shut down. What's that phrase—when all you have is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail? Andrew needs to diversify. 

“Try again,” Andrew says. Without the fog of his medication, Neil looks much less amusing. One hundred percent a threat, even if he did get in the driver's seat of Andrew's car and whip down the highway to return them to the relative safety of Fox Tower. He's a liar, even if he doesn't want to be.

“My parents—worked for the Moriyamas.” There it is. “Then they deserted and stole heaps of their money. Moriyamas caught up with them a few years ago, and I ran away. I've been running ever since.” 

“So there's no one in Millport waiting to hear from their beloved son,” Andrew says. Andrew was right, then—he's like them. Unloved. Unwanted. Nothing.

“No,” Neil confirms.

“Why did you go to high school?” Andrew says. “Not many people would've made that choice.”

“I wanted to play exy,” Neil says, giving a pitiful half-shrug. “I thought that's why Wymack came to meet with me.”

“Why are you here?” Andrew says. “What's your objective?”

“Survival.”

“Then you shouldn't have joined the resistance.”

“I'm tired,” Neil says. “I have nowhere else to go. Besides, maybe it's not my survival I'm after.”

Ah. Andrew can work with that.

“The Kevin obsession,” Andrew says.

“He was everything I could've been,” Neil says. “I don't know. My father was friends with Kengo, so I thought—I thought I'd be recruited, get a number three on my face. Instead we ran away. I was always on the run, and he was—he was _thriving_ , living the life I'd always wanted. He had everything, and I was _nothing_.” He looks toward the closed bedroom door as if Kevin is just on the other side, laughing and enjoying his life. “I didn't know, obviously, what it was really like. Not 'til I came here. I don't know. It's like our lives were parallel to each other—I could just as easily have been Riko's pet. I just want one of us to get through this, even if it's not me.” He sighs, runs a hand through that box-black hair, looks back at Andrew. “He doesn't know who I am. Kevin, I mean. He doesn't know about me.” 

Andrew stares at him. He doesn't know how much of it is true, but Neil's face looks torn open. Andrew studies him, looks for any hint of a lie in Neil's eyes, and finds despite himself that he gets it. Idiots think of Kevin as a symbol—of the government's might or of the resistance, depending on who you ask—but Andrew knows better. Kevin is a broken person, but if you toss something in his direction, he'll still catch it, on instinct, in his left hand. If anyone survives this—

“You should leave,” Andrew says. “I know you want to.”

Neil doesn't deny it. He looks like he knows exactly how long it'll take him to get from where they're standing to the nearest exit. Earlier, he remembered the exact route back from Eden's Twilight without a word from anyone in the car. He turns, and Andrew can see it in his precise steps, the would-be natural slope of his back: Matt is asleep. This will be Neil's last conversation with a Fox if he can help it.

Andrew reaches out and snags the back of Neil's collar with his wrecked hand. 

“Kevin didn't go with Jean because of you,” Andrew says. And Andrew himself is only here because of a twisted array of promises, the most recent and most important of which is the one to keep Kevin safe in the hopes of—something. A future other than bland nothingness. Something to care about once the Moriyama administration collapses. He'll have to come off his meds sooner or later—the price has shot up, and he's already had to space out his doses more than his ideal. After that, he's nothing. Kevin promised him something, even if Andrew doesn't really believe that something exists. Neil might keep Kevin here. It's simple. “What will it take to get you to stay?”

“What?” Neil turns to look at him, startled. The movement smudges some of Andrew's blood on the back of Neil's neck. 

“Kevin needs to stay here, which means you need to stay here until he gets bored of you.” Kevin thinks Neil is the right kind of crazy for the Foxes. He's the only one hand-picked by Kevin, the only one with the correct ratio of desperate to terrified to idealistic. And it's Kevin, whose disdain for people in general is matched only with that tremor of desperate belief in the power of all that democracy bullshit. “So stay. I'll make sure you don't die. The plan is to have the Moriyamas out of power within the year. After that, your life can be your problem again. Until then, you give Kevin a reason to stay put, and I'll be your insurance.”

Neil steps closer to him, eyes narrowed. Andrew reaches up to pull Neil down to his level. They're separated by barely an inch of space, so close that Andrew can feel Neil's dark hair brushing his forehead. 

“No one will touch you,” Andrew promises. Neil's pulse thuds too quickly under Andrew's fingers. His fear feels familiar. “Keep Kevin here and I'll keep you alive.” 

“You have no reason to do that.”

“I don't lie.” Andrew presses Neil's keyring into Neil's hand. He was supposed to give it to him weeks ago, but he couldn't trust that Neil wouldn't let anyone else in yet. He still needed a chaperone. If he's taking Andrew's deal, he won't anymore. “Take this.”

“You want me to trust you,” Neil says, incredulous. Andrew doesn't miss how his hand closes around the keyring, so tight his knuckles go white. 

“You don't have anything to lose,” Andrew says.

“I have everything to lose.”

“You have nothing,” Andrew corrects. 

Neil pulls away from him.

“Go for your run,” Andrew says. “If you come back, I'll know what you've decided.”

Neil goes.

*

Something collides with Andrew's shoulder. He shoots up, swings with his bandaged hand, panic in the back of his throat, barely keeping the _don't touch me!_ from coming out—but it's nothing. No one is here.

He looks up, groggy. He thinks he was dreaming, but Andrew hasn't remembered a dream in years. 

Neil is several steps away, lit only by the fluorescent light of the hallway, which casts an odd shadow across half his face. He has that same trapped look in his eyes he always does, but he's still not wearing contacts. He could almost be a hallucination if not for his shoe on the floor only a few inches from where it bounced off Andrew's shoulder—an effort, Andrew supposes, to not get himself punched in the throat again.

When he sees that he has Andrew's attention, Neil holds up the keyring. One of the keys catches the light creeping in from the hallway, glinting ominously. Andrew feels his cheek twitch.

“Good choice,” he says. “Let me sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Neil Josten Andrew Minyard's Manic Pixie Dream Boy? Discuss.
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com) | [main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com)). Please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo (or an error in continuity/plothole, which is probably due to the amount of times I've changed stuff around, please let me know if you notice these)!
> 
> Andrew references Tocqueville's Democracy in America (again).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some homophobic language in this chapter from the usual suspects. Also there's something that could be interpreted as a joke about suicide, but it's one of those millennial sui ideation jokes.

The others are hungover the next morning, staggering down to breakfast in the strategy room only because that it's the weekend means Wymack will be here to give them all updates on the rest of the resistance.

Andrew should be hungover, too, except he's happily doped up on his meds and looking for an outlet for his excess energy.

It comes—naturally—in the form of Neil, who walks into the room looking like he hasn't slept a wink, all dark circles and too-stiff steps. The rest of them are organized around the table politically—Andrew's lot on one half of the table, the others seated closer together on the other half. 

The only free seat is between Andrew and Nicky. Neil looks at it warily. Andrew smiles up at him.

“Fresh fruit today,” Nicky says. “You know what they say about apples and doctors.” He drops one on Neil's plate.

The rest of them stare as Neil sits down warily—all except for Renee, who cocks her head to the side, questioning. It's not the outcome she was expecting. The plan was that it'd be one of two: Neil comes with us, Neil tells us who he is, and then Neil doesn't come back; or Neil comes with us, Neil tells us who he is, and then Neil comes back and is one of yours. Andrew will explain the complications to her later; he wouldn't wish this death magnet on his worst enemy, and Renee's one of maybe three people on the planet who reliably isn't.

Her friends watch them, and it's no surprise. Despite Neil's obvious skittishness, they thought he was like them, well-adjusted after a medium-dark past. He's not. He's like Renee, like Andrew, has seen death firsthand and come out of it clinging to life so tight that if it were corporeal, it'd have claw marks. Probably has some himself. Has to be why he won't change in front of anyone. Andrew scrubs a finger against the inside of his wrist, under one of his wristbands, feeling the scar tissue there. Claw marks.

“Neil, how did you like Columbia?” Dan says. “Matt says you got back late and then went out again?”

“Yeah, for a run,” Neil says. “I don't drink, so I didn't have an excuse not to.”

“You're joking,” Seth says. “Andrew left you capable of running?”

Neil turns to look at him. “Why wouldn't he?”

“Seth's just jealous he never got to go to Eden's with us,” Nicky says, grinning and flicking a piece of fruit across the table at him. 

“Why would I want to go to that faggy club?”

“See? My point exactly. If you were less of a dick all the time—”

Nicky's distraction works, at least for now. Neil will undoubtedly face further interrogation from his roommates later, but at least Andrew won't have to listen to it.

“Jean showed up,” Kevin interrupts.

There goes that plan. 

“Jean _Moreau_?” Dan says. Renee is just looking intently at Andrew. “What did he want?”

“Kevin, obviously,” Nicky says. “It's fine, though, Neil told him to fuck off.”

“ _What_?” Dan says, just as Matt says, “You didn't.”

Neil shifts in his seat. “Riko sent him to what's supposed to be neutral territory. We could've gotten away with worse.”

“Who _are_ you?” Seth says, looking half-impressed, half-disgusted.

“We're on the same team,” Neil says. “If one of us goes—” He looks at Andrew, who grins back at him.

“All for one and one for all?” Andrew suggests. The reference goes right over Neil's head. Yet again.

“Jean's wrong, anyway,” Neil says. “Kevin's going to take them down. He's a cause people can rally behind, and people _hate_ the Moriyamas.” 

“Let's hope so,” Wymack says, entering the room with his usual stern aplomb, Allison Reynolds in tow. “Morning, everyone. You all look well-rested and not at all hungover.”

There's an unenthusiastic chorus of hello's, and then they start the meeting.

“We actually have news for you for once,” Dan says. “You're not going to like this.”

“Jesus Christ. What did you do this time?”

“Such little faith,” Andrew says.

“Jean Moreau showed up at Eden's Twilight last night,” Renee says.

Allison's head swivels to look at her. “What? That wasn't sanctioned.” 

“Maybe Riko's gone rogue,” Andrew says. “Do you think if he touches you, he'll sap you of all your power?”

“It's possible, but I doubt it,” Allison says. “The rogue thing and the—whatever, power thing. Plenty of the master's missions for his Ravens are classified. Still, Jean was supposed to be at a banquet last night and Riko said he was ill.”

“He lied, obviously,” Andrew says. “Maybe he and Neil will get along after all.”

“How did he find you?” Wymack says.”

“Who knows?” Aaron says. “For all we know, they've been monitoring Eden's Twilight.”

“But we were only there for like half an hour before they showed up,” Nicky says. “We're too far from Washington for them to have seen us on video feeds and then flown down.”

“We're going to need to talk about this some more,” Wymack says. “Matt?”

“I'll do some research,” he says. “Nicky, text me Eden's address.”

“In any case, I'm not, like, super surprised. Riko's pissed about something,” Allison says. “He has been for the last two months.” She turns to Kevin. “He said something about the lord. Any idea what it could be?”

“The lord is Riko's father,” Kevin says. “His heir is Riko's brother, Ichirou. Neither of them has any contact with Riko.”

“But they're his family,” Matt says, looking rapidly from Allison to Wymack.

“Yeah, and?” Seth says. “We all know that doesn't mean anything.”

“Maybe he's just pissed that he's made out to be just a war hero,” Dan says. “Maybe he wants a role in politics, too.”

“He won't get one,” Allison says. “He isn't favored by his father and he has no real political power outside of military strength. That's why he sent Jean to take you guys down in Columbia and not here—everyone knows attacking a shelter city with no provocation would be nuclear politically, but showing up at a nightclub in a city that pretends to be pro-Moriyama isn't.”

“So while antagonizing Riko may be fun, it isn't going to help us in the long term,” Wymack says. “We need to focus on agitating the masses so that they resist policy day to day.”

“It is not just agitating,” Kevin says. “It will not help us to think of it like that. It is more complicated than that.” He has that fucking freedom twinkle in his eye. It's better than when he just sits around looking scared that Riko is going to walk in at any second, but barely. “We have to show them that this is not what it has to be like. They can be free again, but they have to fight for it.”

“So, what, you want to put out some Common Sense Patrick Henry posters?” Seth says. “Give me liberty or give me death?”

“I think Patrick Henry and Thomas Paine were just pissed about having to pay more for sugar,” Dan says. “Our goal is a little loftier than that.”

“At first, maybe, but the ideals of the American Revolution were the same as the ones we fight for today—didn't you read it?” Kevin says. “'The sun never shined on a cause of greater worth'? 'Freedom hath been hunted around the globe'? It was assigned—”

“We get the picture, Kevin,” Dan says. She redirects her attention toward Wymack. “So how do we do it? Agitate the masses or whatever?”

“It should be you, Kevin,” Neil says. “Look, he loves them. They love him. It would work.”

“It's a nice thought, but we can't exactly stamp his face on a poster and say 'Uncle Kev wants you,' you know?” Dan says. “And if he goes out in public somewhere, he stands a chance of getting arrested or shot or something.” 

“I think the point of Uncle Sam was that his initials were U.S.,” Nicky says. “So it's like, subliminal messaging. United States wants you to join the army. We could maybe do Uncle Seth.”

“I don't think there was anything subliminal about Uncle Sam, Nicky,” Aaron says. 

Wymack cuts in: “Seth might have a point about spreading the message. Not posters, though. It's the twenty-first century, and we want something that can't be ignored. Renee, you can cut into cable feeds, right? Who among you has any artistic talents at all?”

“Matt's good with a couple of different instruments and Nicky can cut a video together,” Dan says. “We'll all have input on what goes into it. Maybe we can get some videos of Patty Henry, right, Kev?”

“Videos of _Patty_ —” Kevin says, sounding truly agonized.

“Relax,” Dan says. “I'm joking. I know it's Patrick. Maybe there are videos of him on YouTube. Do you think he had a Periscope account?”

Kevin does not look comforted. Wymack moves on anyway.

“Send me a draft of the video by Monday morning,” he says. “Obviously use our encrypted server to email it. Oh, and someone get Neil a phone and teach him how to use it.” His eyes flick over to where Neil is sitting between Andrew and Nicky. “I'll reimburse you, Andrew.”

“Why do I always have to do the new kid errands?” Andrew says, grinning.

“Because if I assigned them to anyone else, you'd probably cut off their hand and do it yourself,” Wymack says. He sounds tired. “I'll see you all next week.”

It's quiet in the room for a split second, but then: “I'm going for a run,” Neil says, following Wymack out.

With no reason to stay there, Aaron pushes away from the table, too, undoubtedly to call that girl he's not supposed to be talking to. Andrew never really expected Aaron to keep up his side of the bargain, but it's still a fuck you every time. Andrew debates following him to push the subject, but he can't make himself care enough.

Instead, he redirects his attention to the table, where, without Aaron's open hostility to dampen everything, Nicky has engaged himself in conversation with everyone else. Figures. He's the monster closest to normalcy, and it's not like he made a deal to not make any friends until all this is over. 

“Hey,” Kevin says, nudging Andrew with his elbow.

“Stop that,” Andrew says.

“Do you think Neil's right?”

“His team-building bullshit makes me gag,” Andrew says. 

“I meant about people rallying behind me.”

If he's honest? No. If they're going to rally behind anyone, it's hard to believe they'd go for a former Moriyama man unless he came clean about the abuse he suffered at their hands, which Kevin is convinced would get him killed in about five minutes flat. But then, if they do the whole thing right, have complete control over everything and maybe just not tell Kevin that he's about to be right in the line of fire—

“Oh, Kevin,” Andrew says. “I'm not a magic eight ball.”

“Humor me.”

“Ask me again later,” Andrew says. 

“You're really telling me you don't have an opinion about this?”

The others are listening. Andrew laughs. The sound is humorless.

“Even if I had the attention span to form an opinion about it, you probably wouldn't like it.”

Harshly: “Andrew—”

“No,” Andrew says cheerfully, relishing the irritation on Kevin's face. 

“No, what? You don't not have an opinion? Or your opinion is no?”

“No, I'm not interested in continuing this conversation.”

Kevin's had enough. He stalks off, not far enough that Andrew won't immediately follow. 

“Hey, Andrew,” Dan says. “You have to believe this will work. That was all just you trying to piss Kevin off, right? Otherwise why would you—?”

“Reply hazy,” Andrew says. “Try again later.”

*

“So tell us,” Renee says, “what do you have on the newest Fox?”

Allison is spending the entire day with them, ostensibly because she can't be seen leaving the building and wants to wait for the cover of darkness. The real reason is that she wants to hook up with Seth, but for now she's in the gym with Renee and Andrew, dressed in flashy workout clothes and boxing gloves.

They're mining her for information again. Andrew still wants it, even if he got Neil's story from Neil—straight from the rabbit's mouth. Now he needs to know what the Moriyamas know so he can know how to protect him. It's all very complex.

“That's the thing,” Allison says. “I checked his file again this morning, and it still just has him listed as a runaway. He's not officially with the Foxes at all.”

“Do you think it is possible that they do not know?” Renee says.

“If they didn't before, they must now, right?” Allison says. “I'll check in a week and get back to you.”

“Okay,” Renee says. “Keep us posted, Allison.”

“Of course,” Allison says. She tilts her head at Andrew. “Wanna go?”

Andrew grins. “You aren't scared I'll murder you?”

“Maybe I just wanna die,” Allison says, taking her gloves off to reveal taped hands. 

Andrew doesn't, as a rule, fight anyone other than Renee or occasionally Kevin. 

“Not interested,” he says. “Fight Renee.” 

He leaves them there together and goes out for a cigarette.

*

“Neil needs to double down on shooting lessons,” Kevin says. “He is a terrible shot. And he needs to read more if he is going to be helpful at all when we have to start over.”

Neil's jaw is a little slack, but he gets it together enough to say, “You don't have to talk about me like I'm not here.”

“It is not your choice,” Kevin says. “If you want to stay here, you have to be useful, and you will not be useful if you are just another soldier who cannot shoot or think for himself.” 

“Okay, so what's your syllabus? Thomas Paine and—what, the Declaration of Independence?” Neil says. “You really think three hundred year old theory is going to help us? Didn't they still have slavery then? Not so free, right?”

Andrew laughs. “This is going to be fun. I might sit in on your theory lessons for once, Kevin.”

“Good,” Kevin says. “Maybe then you would learn something valuable too.”

He unlocks the door to the basement shooting range and chooses weapons for the two of them. He hands Neil his first, showing him how to load it.

They're there for a while, shooting paper targets, Kevin barking out orders at Neil since Neil actually can't hit the target to save his life.

“Hey, Neil,” Andrew says, pulling his earmuffs off when they finish. “How are you expecting to kill whoever attacks you in your sleep when you can't hit a still target?”

“I don't think it'd be hard at this range,” Neil says. He looks down at the gun still in his hands—a big one—and then raises it and points at Andrew. “What do you think?”

“Neil,” Kevin says. 

“Don't worry, Kevin,” Andrew says, smiling and waiting. “Death doesn't scare me. Besides, if Neil kills me, he'll just be a scared little bunny on the run again.”

“It does not matter if he doesn't intend to kill you,” Kevin says. “What if his finger slips? It is not proper gun safety to—”

“Relax,” Neil says, and lowers the gun. “Andrew's right.”

“When aren't I?” Andrew says.

“I swear, if you two murder each other—”

“You'll what?” Andrew says.

“Resurrect you both just to kill you.” He holds out his hands for Neil's gun and locks it safely away, then waits until they both get out of the room to storm back upstairs. 

Neil makes to follow him, but Andrew snags the back of his collar to hold him back.

“What?” Neil says. 

“Wymack told me to get you a phone.”

“Is that where you were this morning?” Neil says. “In Columbia buying a phone? Is that safe?”

Andrew digs it out of his pocket. Renee already took all their usual security precautions, so the phone should be as untrackable as it can be given it's a phone and they live in the twenty-first century.

“Here you go,” Andrew says, holding it out.

Neil freezes. He isn't a particularly kinetic person anyway—fidgety sometimes, but remarkably still for someone so prone to taking off at a moment's notice, which is another way in which he's like a rabbit; Andrew makes a mental note to add it to the growing list—but seeing him go completely motionless is still somewhat amusing.

“Hey, Neil,” Andrew says. “What's black and white and unread all over?”

Neil's eyes shoot from the phone back up to Andrew. “What?”

“You,” Andrew says. “Because you're like a newspaper no one wants to read—too many issues.”

It's not his best work, but Neil doesn't even get the joke. He looks like he's going to be sick. 

“I don't need a phone.”

“Yes you do,” Andrew says. “We cannot spend every waking moment together, and this lets you tell me where you are.”

“Why should you care where I am?”

“Don't tell me you forgot already,” Andrew says. “Why would you make watching your back even more difficult for me?”

“This makes me traceable. I've survived this long because I haven't been.”

“If someone wants to track you now, all they have to do is look you up,” Andrew says. “You were listed. You can't hide anymore.”

“Neil Josten is listed,” Neil says. Interesting. Andrew knew it was a fake name, but here Neil is, admitting to it. “And he's never had a phone. He isn't going to start now.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Who am I supposed to call?”

“Why should I care?”

“There has to be something else,” Neil says.

“Do you want me to put a tracking chip in your spine?” Andrew says. “Then it will be really easy for me to find you.”

“I wish I had shot you,” Neil says. “I want to put this phone through your teeth.”

“That's more interesting.”

“I'm not here for your entertainment.”

“I think that's exactly why you're here,” Andrew says. “Look at me, Neil.” 

Neil does. 

“If someone were going to die because they had a cell phone, don't you think it would be me?” Andrew says. “I'm the only reason Kevin was brave enough to leave the Moriyamas and come here, after all. If they took me out of the picture, they could take him back.”

“Why haven't they?” Neil says.

“Because attacking a shelter city will make them seem like monsters,” Andrew says, smiling at the term. “Kevin is not important enough to the main family for them to risk everything for him. They are barely keeping a lid on the resistance as is.” He holds the phone out again. “Take it.”

Neil takes it.

*

The next few weeks are actually almost normal. They do everything they're supposed to do. They make the propaganda videos, and Andrew thinks they look like viral marketing for a bad movie, but no one else seems to agree, so they get put out anyway.

They keep reading theory—Neil more than the rest of them since he's catching up—and none of them can see the point, except that it keeps Kevin happy, and a happy Kevin generally means a more peaceful Fox Tower. 

Neil keeps shooting. He gets only a little better. 

Allison stops by once to tell them that there is no record of Jean going to Eden's Twilight. 

Things are quiet for a while.

Andrew is frightfully bored.

*

Aaron was a volunteer EMT before they went underground, and it's lucky, because Abby can only get to Fox Tower so often, and the rest of them get injured all the fucking time.

Case in point: Matt is showing them all the hand-to-hand combat skills they don't already know, leading them in a series of drills, and it's already been the type of irritating morning that always leads to bad fights. Poll numbers are in: the resistance's latest propaganda videos have been roundly dismissed by the Moriyamas and their followers. Everyone who's seen them thinks they're, well, propaganda, but not from a serious resistance group, just from some hacker wannabes. 

It isn't enough. It's not effective. No one cares. And anyway, Andrew thinks, most people are comfortable enough with the current regime that they won't fight for change even if there are a thousand videos advocating for it. 

The resistance might be spreading, but it's weak. A few thousand people means nothing when the general population doesn't care. Just because they can seize control of TV networks, doesn't mean they're going to make use of that control. Just because they have a team of good hackers, doesn't mean anything they hack is worth hacking. 

So anyway: everyone is in a shitty mood except for Andrew, who is in a terrific mood courtesy of his meds and laughs his way through a half-assed fight with Kevin, who never manages to pin Andrew but also can't get Andrew to pin him. It annoys Kevin so much that Andrew keeps doing it—frightful boredom breeding, naturally, a more irritating Andrew.

On their other side, Aaron and Neil are arguing in voices that are getting less hushed as their breathing gets more labored, the only real fight in the room other than the struggle underlying Andrew and Kevin's. 

“—Jean, then? He just knew where we were magically?” Aaron is saying, barely listening to Matt's orders.

“I don't fucking know,” Neil snarls back, aiming a hit for the underside of Aaron's chin that Aaron dodges. “Maybe it was _you_. You spend all that time on your phone. How do we know Katelyn isn't one of theirs, hm?”

There's an odd buzzing that fills the inside of Andrew's head every time someone mentions the cheerleader, which is probably why he doesn't notice until it's too late that Kevin has finally shoved him down and then, a moment after that, that Aaron has hit Neil hard enough in the face that Neil hits the ground and stays down for a second.

But then he's back up, and this time when he goes for Aaron, their fight quickly devolves into an actual brawl. Andrew watches for the time being—Neil doesn't pose a threat to Aaron, not really, and Aaron knows not to seriously maim someone under Andrew's protection. So he just waits until the Foxes step in, Kevin and Nicky pulling Aaron away from Neil while Matt grabs Neil around the shoulders.

“Don't fucking _ever_ talk about her,” Aaron yells, even as Matt drags Neil back. “You have _no_ idea—”

“Yeah, I don't,” Neil says, and he looks like he's going to say something else until he catches the look on Andrew's face. “Whatever. Fuck you.” 

He shoves Matt off and tears off to the showers.

*

Neil shows up to their session with Wymack that night with a black eye and an ice pack, and it hangs over all their heads, giving the meeting a gloomier feel than usual for everyone except Andrew, who gets the urge to laugh every time he sees it.

“Wymack just entered the building,” Renee says, looking up from the security videos on her laptop. “He'll be here in a minute.”

Sure enough, Wymack walks in with Dan a minute later. He glances around the room, pausing at Neil.

“What the hell happened to you?” he says. 

“Nothing,” Neil says. 

“Come here for a second. I want to see how damaged you are.” Wymack looks over at Andrew significantly, but Andrew raises his hands to demonstrate his innocence.

“Don't look at me,” Andrew says. “I was told not to touch the new kid.” 

Neil's reluctance is evident in every step he takes toward Wymack, but it hits its fever pitch when Wymack reaches for Neil's chin and Neil actually flinches backward. Wymack blinks at Neil, stares at him for a long moment, then says, “How's your vision?”

“Fine,” Neil says. 

“Did you talk to Aaron?”

Neil whips around to look at Aaron, frowning, but Wymack clarifies: “Aaron, you think this needs any more sophisticated treatment?”

Aaron doesn't look up. “No. He should switch to warm compresses this evening.”

“See?” Neil says. “I'm fine.”

“Heard that one before,” Wymack says, but he returns to the matter at hand. “Matt. Eden's Twilight spy update?”

“Nothing,” Matt says. “I asked around—no one there remembered me from last time, but none of them said a word about the monsters ever having been there, not even, like, vaguely.”

“Roland wouldn't say anything,” Nicky says. “Neither would anyone else who works there. They've known us since we were kids.”

“Jean had to have known you were going in advance,” Allison says. “He wasn't just coincidentally in Columbia that week. He was in Washington all morning, and he skipped an official event in the evening.”

“So it wasn't Eden's Twilight people,” Nicky says. 

Aaron casts a significant look at Neil, but he doesn't say anything. Probably wise.

“Okay, well, that's concerning,” Wymack says. “Either someone is watching all of you, or one of you isn't trustworthy.”

“I'd guess it was a monster if they weren't the ones directly targeted,” Dan says. “But—”

“Accusing us isn't going to make this go any easier,” Aaron says.

“Says _you_ ,” Seth says, and opens his mouth to continue before Wymack cuts him off. 

“Have you all been online?”

The agitated mood immediately drops, replaced with that morning's heavy-footed depression.

“Yeah,” Matt says. “Videos aren't working. People think they're propaganda from Moriyama opposition.”

“Which they are,” Andrew says. 

“Word on the street is that the resistance is just a bunch of pissed off teenagers,” Wymack says. “Idiots like Occupy Wall Street, except instead of being white people with dreadlocks who smell bad there's the added threat of you all being violent since most of you are wanted criminals.”

“We need something to prove that we're legitimate,” Dan says. “Rhetoric doesn't give people hope, right? It's not going to rally people to fight.”

“What gives people hope?” Kevin, who has probably never experienced hope in his life, says. 

“People do,” Nicky says. “Right? People inspire hope in other people.”

“If only we had someone who could inspire hope,” Andrew says, leaning on his palm and looking at Dan. 

“We do,” Neil says.

“Baby Jane is going to put himself on millions of American TV screens?” Andrew says.

“Not me,” Neil says. “Kevin.”

Andrew laughs. “Didn't you know? Kevin's scared of his own shadow. He's not going to be your savior.”

“Our,” Neil says. “He is.” Neil redirects his attention toward Wymack. “Right? He's proof the Moriyamas aren't a permanent hell _and_ he gives us legitimacy. He's Kevin Day. He's beloved. If he tells people to take charge of their own lives—they'll do it.”

Dan is gazing at him. For a second, Andrew thinks Matt has competition, but then he sees that Matt is gazing at him, too. 

“You know you have to,” Neil says, looking at Kevin now. “We can't just stay here forever.” 

Kevin clenches and unclenches his injured hand, then looks over at Andrew, but he doesn't say anything, not even with the other Foxes clamoring at him to agree.

*

Andrew finds Neil pulling his shoes on for a run and knocks on the open door to get his attention.

“What?” Neil says. 

“For someone terrified of the Moriyamas, you aren't doing very well at staying under their radar,” Andrew says.

“I told you,” Neil says. “One of us needs to survive. That's not going to happen if we're sitting here just waiting for them to get bored enough to kill us all.”

“You are making my life astonishingly difficult.”

“You could've told him not to do it.”

Andrew doesn't know if he's talking about Aaron or Kevin. He goes with the latter. “Do not assume that I kept my mouth shut because I actually care about this.”

“Don't you?” Neil says.

“What's the point in caring about lost causes?” Andrew says.

“You're protecting me even though I'm going to die anyway,” Neil says, shrugging. “It's the same thing.”

“You _are_ a lost cause,” Andrew agrees. “But it is not the same thing. Protecting you keeps you here, and keeping you here keeps Kevin safe. Caring about the rebellion requires an attention span and level of blind delusion that I have never had.”

“It's not blind delusion,” Neil says. “We're going to beat them.”

How can he be so convinced he's going to die and yet so optimistic about this? It doesn't make any sense. Andrew crosses his arms, leans on the doorframe.

“I have a question for you,” Neil says. “What does Kevin have that you want so badly?”

“I don't want anything.”

“Then why keep him alive?”

“The kindness of my heart.”

Neil finishes tying his laces at last and straightens to look at Andrew. 

“Do you want to hear my theory?” Neil says. 

“How stupid are you? Did you not just hear me say I don't want anything?”

“I think you think that once you're off your meds, there'll be just an empty shell, and you want Kevin to help you fill it with something,” Neil says, which is close enough that if Andrew were someone else, he might've flinched. Instead, he just laughs. “I think you're hoping Kevin will give you some reason for—all of this.”

“If you think I'm going to suddenly care about your fool's mission once I'm sober, you are sorely mistaken,” Andrew says. “I wasn't a zealot before them, and I won't be after them.”

“You said you thought the Moriyamas would be out of power within the year.”

“Did I?”

Neil doesn't argue. “I know you used to care about things.”

“How would you know?” 

“Didn't you?”

“Oh, Neil,” Andrew says. “Haven't you ever heard what happens when you assume?”

“No.”

“You get yourself killed.” Andrew smiles at him. “Is that what you want?”

“You know it isn't,” Neil says. “Why won't Kevin do this?”

“Because Kevin is a coward.”

“He says he wants people to be free again.”

“And yet he is trapped in the prison of his own fear,” Andrew says, laughing at the metaphor. 

“How does he expect to free anyone if he can't even free himself?” 

“You expect to help Kevin survive when you know you won't,” Andrew says. 

“It's not the same thing.”

“Isn't it?” 

He's in full hallucination mode tonight, Neil is, looking at Andrew less like either of them are unsolvable problems and more like Andrew's a cipher that's going to finally allow him into the realm of normalcy. Andrew has no idea how delusional a person has to be to make that kind of a mistake. Evidently: very.

He looks away forcibly, grinning at his own stupidity.

“What?” Neil says.

“Oh, Neil.” It's cruel irony that his name rhymes with “real” considering how little of him actually is. “I really should know better than to do this again.”

Neil doesn't follow. Of course he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know absolutely nothing about guns, so the entirety of my description of guns in this chapter is “a big one” and “one that shoots fast.” If you're an NRA member and that bothers you, I am truly sorry.
> 
> Also, I know the [Patrick Henry](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Give_me_liberty,_or_give_me_death!) joke went on for too long and if I had a beta they'd probably be like “why are you making jokes about semi-relevant American revolutionary thinkers” and I'd be like “give me bad jokes about American history or give me death” and they'd be like “death tbh.”
> 
> Okay this is getting long. Come talk to me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com/)) | ([main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com/)). Please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo!
> 
> Andrew references the Dumas' Three Musketeers and X-Men.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some brief discussion of date rape in this chapter. Nothing more intense than the canon. As always, feel free to message me here or on [tumblr](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com/ask) and I can give you more details.

“Honestly, God bless Matt,” Nicky says, perching on the couch a careful distance away from Andrew and turning on the TV. “I thought we'd never get to go back. Did you get Neil something to wear?”

“You like having a paper doll too much,” Andrew says, but he kicks the bag of clothing over to Nicky. “You should've seen Kevin at the mall. 'Is wearing all this leather really _hygienic_?'” Renee almost bust a gut trying to keep herself from laughing at Kevin's expense—or at least, Andrew likes to think she did.

“Neat freak,” Nicky says, looking through the bag. “He'll look great in this. Think he'll ditch the contacts again?”

“I think we're about to find out how much he trusts us,” Andrew says.

“Hope it's the right kind of trust,” Nicky says, which Andrew doesn't understand until he adds, “He needs to actually drink this time. Preferably as much as Kevin. I'd love to have a chance at—”

He doesn't finish his sentence, presumably because Andrew's pressing him into the couch, hand at his throat. 

“Keep your hands off him,” Andrew says, baring his teeth at Nicky's shocked face.

“Right, fine, I won't touch him,” Nicky says. “But if he _wants_ to—”

“I said no,” Andrew says.

“You're so fucking greedy,” Nicky complains. It's a ballsy move, Andrew has to admit; half the people who live in Fox Tower would've given up by now, and the rest would've tried to hit him back. It's why he comes closest to liking Nicky, maybe. “You can't keep _all_ the cute new boys who show up.”

Andrew pulls out one of his knives and presses it against Nicky's ribcage. 

“Hey, Nicky,” Andrew says, grinning wider. “Don't touch him.”

Nicky goes quiet, barely even breathes.

“Get it?” Andrew says.

“Andrew,” Nicky says, in that careful “my cousin's fucking crazy” voice he takes on sometimes when talking to other people around Andrew, “I'm just joking, Jesus, you don't have to be so possessive—”

Possessive. Andrew presses the blade in a little harder, so that it breaks through the fibers of the fabric of Nicky's t-shirt. This will be enough to get Nicky to fuck off, but he won't learn his lesson—Nicky never does. _Possessive_. As if Andrew cares about _possessiveness_. The injustice of this misunderstanding weighs so heavily on Andrew's shoulders that he considers just gutting Nicky for it anyway, but it doesn't seem worth the effort. 

It's kind of funny, anyway, that Nicky would mistake Andrew's touchiness around consent for possessiveness. It makes Andrew laugh, unbidden, a manic sound that makes Nicky's face go from just scared to actually terrified.

“Andrew,” Nicky says. “It's okay. Andrew—”

“Give him his clothes,” Andrew says. “If I find out you touched him—”

“Andrew, I won't. You know I'd never hurt him. I won't.” 

“Do I?” Andrew says, but he pulls the blade away. A thin line of blood appears on Nicky's chest, beading past the fabric, red against white. Nicky doesn't dare to move until Andrew gets off him. He seizes the bag off the floor and immediately scampers to find Neil.

Andrew makes his way for the window and lights a cigarette. It's a shame. They were having such a nice conversation. 

It wasn't anger or even protectiveness that triggered him, just the idea that someone wouldn't take no for an answer—or would take drunkenness as a yes—and not just someone, but someone he takes every precaution to protect. He doesn't have a deal with Nicky the way he does with Aaron, but they're still family, and yeah, family's always meant shit to Andrew but that doesn't mean he needs to mean shit to it. Or something. 

He tries to feel what he's sure a normal person would feel right now—anger at Nicky, pain at his own trauma, frustration at his tendency to resort to violence—but there's nothing. When he pictures Nicky's face, he just finds it funny. When he thinks about everything in his past—the memories are there, but they're devoid of feeling, and he can't pay attention to any of them long enough to sift through them. It's the meds, he knows, effectively numbing him and replacing any feeling with something akin to soulless hysteria. 

Speaking of which: he's bored. The TV is still on, but most of what's on is Moriyama propaganda or old censored movies, so it's not worth watching. There are video games, but he doesn't like playing them on single player—with no one to hold him accountable, he can only get in a few minutes of game time before losing focus. If he were Neil, he'd go for a run.

But he's not Neil. He tosses the remains of his cigarette out the window and changes into more comfortable clothing, then goes to seek out Renee.

*

Hitting something always helps. They do it without knives these days thanks to a couple of times when they came too close to killing each other, but still—hitting something that reacts, that will hit him back, a live wire like Renee, it's the best way to occupy time. And they can call it training so no one worries about them, which is another plus.

“What brought this on?” Renee says, knees on his chest. If she had a knife, it'd be at his neck right now, but even Andrew has taken off all but his wristband sheaths. 

He shoves her off, and when she regains her footing, brings her back down with a swing at her knees. Hard enough to bruise, but never hard enough to break. It's a balance he's had to learn. 

“Nothing,” Andrew says.

“Not feeling talkative?”

“I never feel talkative,” Andrew says, landing on the mat next to her courtesy of a well-timed kick. “I just am.”

“Obviously something's bothering you.” 

“It's nothing,” Andrew says. She won't pry—Renee never does. “We're going to Columbia later.” 

“You're not nervous because Jean showed up last time.”

“No, this is unrelated.”

“So, what? This is foreplay?”

The crucifix glints at her neck, but Renee isn't being judgmental.

“I was bored,” Andrew says.

“You're always bored.”

“Not lately.” 

“No,” she agrees. “Not lately.”

She doesn't bring up what changed, and after that she hits him hard enough that he isn't tempted to bring it up, either.

*

Neil's friends don't want him to go out with them. Typical.

“When are you going to learn?” Andrew says. “He's a monster, too.” Would have to be, for Kevin to want anything to do with him. 

Dan rolls her eyes at him, but she's too preoccupied trying to figure out if Allison is staying the night or not to pay much attention to them. Figures. Andrew grabs Kevin's sleeve to tug him past her, trusting that Aaron and Nicky will follow and that Neil won't be apprehended by people who clearly don't know that under that “please help me” exterior he's all broken glass, just like the rest of them. And dressed to match for once, looking uncomfortable in his new clothes. Good—that way he'll be on his toes. 

Andrew times his medication better this time, so he doesn't start to feel sick until they're in Columbia and already stocked up on crackers. He dumps three packets into his mouth at once, blinks at the burn and then the clarity that follows it, and rolls down his window to smoke.

“Don't hog all the crackers,” Nicky says, reaching back for some. “Rude.”

“I can't believe you're all stupid enough to do drugs,” Neil says. “Especially after Matt and Seth—”

“They're just crackers,” Nicky says dismissively. “Even Kevin does them, and Kevin eats, like, kale and shit.”

As if to prove the point, Kevin accepts the packet Nicky hands him. The dose he's taking probably won't have much of an effect, but it is a little lift, a stimulant to help them stay up later and drink longer. Like a Red Bull, only it helps stave off withdrawal.

Neil still looks like he disapproves. 

“Try some,” Nicky says. “We have plenty, here—”

“What, so I have a choice this time?” Neil says.

“From now on, you do,” Andrew says. 

Neil blinks like that was a surprise, which pricks at the back of Andrew's neck. Why is he even here, then? He could've stayed back with his pals and not showed up just to put a damper on their evening.

“Last chance,” Nicky says as they pull into the Eden's Twilight parking lot. “In or out?”

“Out,” Neil says. 

Shame. Andrew wouldn't mind seeing him lose control. 

All the same, that means more for the rest of them. Andrew shoves the extras in his pockets as they crowd into the club.

“You guys get drinks,” Nicky says. “We'll find a table.”

Kevin goes with Nicky and Aaron, which means Andrew is stuck with the liar. Neil follows him to the bar, silent, and watches as Andrew orders their first round.

“What about this one?” Roland says, gesturing to Neil, ineffectively covering up his surprise at Neil's return. 

“Nothing,” Neil says. 

“Let me get you a soda, then.”

“I said nothing.”

“Look, I'll open it in front of you,” Roland says, cracking the soda can and handing Neil a glass to go with it.

Neil checks the glass for residue in the dim bar lighting. Roland raises an eyebrow but is too distracted by other customers to question it.

“Paranoid,” Andrew says. 

“Can you blame me?”

Yes. Andrew said he'd keep him alive. It's not Andrew's fault if Neil doesn't believe him. 

“Not everyone makes lying as much of a habit as you do.” 

“Maybe not everyone knows how dangerous honesty can be to survival like I do.”

Now that he's looking at him, Andrew can see that Neil's not wearing his contacts. That's honesty. Unexpected, too. 

“We do crackers because they are not addictive,” Andrew says. “We needed something that wouldn't break Aaron's resolve.”

“Aaron's an addict?”

“It's in the Minyard genes, I suppose,” Andrew says. “The crackers help me forget I don't have this.” He drags a finger across his mouth in the shape of his usual smile. “And I know my limits.” He pauses while Neil takes this in, then says, “Truth for truth. It's an even trade, don't you think?”

“I'll tell you something true,” Neil says. “I don't like you. And I don't trust you.”

“Don't worry, Neil. The feeling's mutual.” Doubly so when he's looking at him through those narrowed blue eyes. Why isn't he wearing his contacts? Is it meant to be a thank you for the clothing? An attempt to gain Andrew's trust? “And yet here we are, stuck together.”

They get pushed into the bar, then, a new flood of people coming to get drinks during a break between DJ sets. Neil ends up pressed along Andrew's back, and Andrew stays perfectly still, uncomfortable with the contact but not willing to show it. Better Neil than a stranger, at least.

Andrew and Neil deliver the drinks to their table, where Aaron and Nicky down several before scampering off to dance—apparently not wanting to be part of any potential Moriyama drama this time—and Neil settles in across from Kevin, sipping slowly at his Pepsi. 

It's a blessing, or it's by Roland's design: they're out of drinks too quickly, which means Andrew doesn't have to watch Kevin and Neil tiptoe around each other or argue about politics. He goes to get more and finds Roland already taking off his bartending apron and heading in the direction of their usual back room.

It's quick, twenty minutes in and out. Roland is always good for this, hot enough that Andrew can turn his brain off and enjoy it, trustworthy enough to not say a word to anyone, down to have his wrists tied to an overhanging pipe. Betsy says it's good for his recovery to be able to have sex. This counts, Andrew tells himself, kissing a trail up Roland's neck.

When he gets back to the table with a new round of drinks, Neil and Kevin are sitting together in stiff silence. It's not surprising: Neil only speaks when he has an explicit purpose to do so, and Kevin has a one track mind. If Kevin refused to engage on making the video, Neil wouldn't have tried to make small talk.

“Where were you?” Kevin says. “I finished my drink ages ago.”

“Try getting your own next time,” Andrew says. “I'm here to keep you alive, not drunk.”

Neil looks from one of them to the other, incredulous.

“You were really just sitting here waiting for Andrew to get you another drink?” Neil says. 

He hasn't learned yet—Kevin can't do a thing on his own, not even go up to the bar. If it weren't for Neil, he would've just sat here, rigid without anyone on his righthand side, like a single battery in a remote control. 

“He said he was going to the bar,” Kevin mumbles. 

“There was a line,” Andrew says. 

Which is—true, but it's not _the_ truth. He's counting on Kevin and Neil's mutual obliviousness to all things sexual to keep his secret for him, and it works. Neil just drinks from his sad can of soda while Kevin throws back three of the shots Andrew brought with him. 

It's an uneventful night, which means it's a successful one. Andrew drives back while the rest of them sleep, except for Neil, who slouches against his window and stares at Andrew in the rearview mirror like he's a math problem Neil isn't equipped to solve.

That makes two of them, Andrew thinks, except that Andrew has a calculator and poor Neil wouldn't know where to start.

*

“You think he's ever going to trust us?” Nicky says the next morning, glancing across the gym at Neil, whom Kevin is currently counseling on lifting and who looks like a feral cat ready to bite Kevin's hand.

“No one trusts anyone anymore,” Aaron says. He's supposed to be doing cardio, but he's just leaning against the side of the treadmill with his phone in his hand playing some game or other. “What does it matter, anyway? You saw him with Jean. He's definitely going to get himself killed.”

“He's one of ours,” Nicky says. “How am I not supposed to care?”

Andrew's supposed to be doing cardio, too, not listening in on their conversation. Kevin's only excused from the daily cardio session because he's making sure Neil doesn't hurt himself lifting, and Neil doesn't need to do cardio because he spends half his days running anyway.

“He looks like he's never trusted anyone in his life,” Andrew says, grinning. “Look at him, it's like seeing a wild animal in captivity.” 

“Isn't that what he _is_?” Nicky says. “Have you even given him his keys yet?”

He has, actually; he's seen Neil carry them like they're a lifeline—or, no, like a tether. The rope keeping the anchor attached to the ship.

“Whatever,” Nicky says. “Just because you two want to stay friendless forever, doesn't mean I have to.”

Actually, it probably will. Trying to befriend Neil is a fool's errand, and all the rest of them are too scared of Andrew to take any of his blood relatives seriously. But—maybe out of curiosity, or maybe he's just growing soft (unlikely)—Andrew doesn't try to stop Nicky when, at the end of his hilariously non-brisk jog, he all but marches over to Neil. 

They can't hear their conversation from across the gym, but Andrew and Aaron watch them anyway. The exchange is brief; Neil turns away after only a moment, looking less animal in captivity and more fully disinterested teenager, but Nicky wins him back with one of his undoubtedly heart-wrenching speeches. 

So. Neil's heartstrings are evidently yank-able. Except—no, they aren't, because Neil isn't tearfully accepting Nicky's declaration of friendship. Instead he's delivering what must be some kind of verbal takedown, because Nicky is shrinking back the way he does around Aaron sometimes. 

Andrew stops pretending to care about his bike and makes his way over to them, but his presence isn't necessary. Neil nods once, and then Nicky smiles and reaches out to hug him.

Neil's response is interesting, too: it's stiff enough that Andrew nearly starts forward again, but then he hugs back, so gingerly and awkwardly that it looks like no one ever taught him how. Andrew grins: if his heartstrings were yank-able, well. Neil would be yanking away.

*

At the beginning of October, there's an uprising in the Michigan Upper Peninsula. They hear about it first on the news, which Dan anxiously keeps running all day as if any of it will be trustworthy at all.

“Did you hear that?” Matt says, stopping in the middle of cutting up vegetables for one of their communal dinners. Andrew rarely participates, but Neil dragged Kevin, and Kevin dragged him. “Four listed teenagers and two Marquette residents found dead of apparently natural causes?”

“Natural causes,” Seth says. “Sure.” 

“Who's in the UP?” Matt says.

“The Wildcats,” Dan says. “They were planning a public protest, remember?”

She switches to another news channel, but it's more of the same—natural causes. An early frost. 

“It's cold up there, but no one's freezing to death in Michigan in October,” Matt says. “There's no way anyone believes that, right?”

But there are man-on-the-street interviews with random UP-ers demonstrating that, apparently, people _do_ believe it, or at least are perfectly willing to pretend they do if it ensures them relative safety.

“Wymack is calling,” Dan says. She answers the phone, listens to whatever he has to say, and then hangs up. “Okay, strategy room. We're doing Big Three video conference.”

The Big Three: the leaders of the resistance, so-called thanks to their size (SoCal's Trojans), information-gathering abilities (Harrisburg, Pennsylvania-based Nittany Lions), and legendary former Raven (the Palmetto Foxes). Most of the names were chosen because of local university mascots. It started as a kind of sick joke since most listed kids never get to go to university, but it's stuck. 

The strategy room already has the videos up when they get there, and Renee switches on the webcams.

“Foxes!” Jeremy Knox says, looking L.A.-tan and healthy, like he's spending his days surfing instead of trying to incite a revolution. 

Everyone knows L.A. is the best place to go if you're trying to get away from the Moriyamas—contributes more to the federal government than it takes, and as such is largely untouched by the cutting of federal funding. California secretly created its own militia at the same time the Moriyamas were building up theirs, so the entire state is protected. They wouldn't be able to resist bombs, of course, but the Moriyamas aren't threatening to drop any. Not yet, anyway. It's a state in open revolt, and the Moriyamas gain political capital by keeping them fenced in and turning a blind eye to people running away there. Something about clearing people's consciences. It's a common mantra repeated by Moriyama supporters: if they really don't want to join the military, listed kids can always run away to California.

“Jeremy!” Kevin is beaming. Andrew thinks it's the first time he's seen Kevin smile since—well, the last time they spoke to the Trojans. “How's it going?”

“Pretty well. West coast best coast, you know?” Jeremy pauses. “Obviously Britt is closer to the UP than the rest of us, so she'll know what went down a lot better than we do.”

“That's right,” Britt says from the Penn screen. Unlike the Trojans, who are all gathered behind Knox, the Nittany Lions sit off to the side, watching on their own individual screens. “I do. Dan?”

“Yeah, Britt.”

“This happened at around noon today in Marquette. The Wildcats came out with their protest signs, apparently to protest peacefully. Around twenty non-resistance members showed up to protest alongside them, which we'd count as a win if there weren't any dead, but then armed forces came out in riot gear. A few canisters of tear gas later, six of the protestors end up in Lake Superior. Four of them Wildcats.”

“I thought Marquette was a shelter city,” Nicky says. “What happened to political suicide?”

“It's not,” Dan says. “There are only six Wildcats.” As opposed to a few hundred Trojans, fifty Nittany Lions with around a hundred more spread across the Rust Belt, and a relatively small crew of Foxes who have a relatively large network of non-underground allies. “They were just staying at someone's house.” She looks back at her counterparts. “What are we going to do about this?”

“Nothing,” Britt says. “We hold tight. You guys keep rolling out the videos. Trojans can keep smuggling kids into California. We keep spying.”

“We can't just do nothing,” Jeremy says. “What about the two Wildcats who are left? What happens to them?”

“They're trying to get here as we speak,” Britt says. “I can send them your way if you want, but that's a couple thousand miles removed from us, so—”

“How are we going to use this?” Neil says. 

“You guys got a new one?” Britt says. “Looks like he has an attitude problem.”

“He does,” Dan says. “But he's right. If we're supposed to be the propaganda wing of the resistance, we have to find a way to use it. Do you guys have video?”

“Wildcats asked us to access the video feeds from cameras on the streets they were on before the protest,” Britt says. She clicks something on her computer. “I can send you some stuff, but it stops short of when they got pushed into the lake. All we have is riot gear and civilians.”

“Isn't that a little fucked?” Jeremy says. “Using those people's deaths as political props?”

“Come on, Knox,” Britt says. “You want to stay underground forever?”

“I'm not—”

“Oh, right,” Britt says. “I forgot. You're having fun in the sun while the rest of us are going hungry.”

“Speaking of which, there's a food shipment coming your way,” another Trojan pipes up. “You're welcome.”

“Thanks, Laila,” Jeremy says. “My point is just that you should be careful how you use those people, right? They were still people. They made a noble choice, and they died, but they were still people.”

“We'll honor them,” Kevin says. “Don't worry.”

Jeremy smiles. Andrew could swear Kevin is swooning. 

Britt is the first to disconnect, but Jeremy goes soon after, and then it's just the Foxes staring at each other around the table.

“We have to do it now, right?” Neil says. He's looking at Kevin. “We have to hop on this story before it gets drowned out by some celebrity bullshit. If we wait too long, the natural causes narrative will end up set in stone.”

Kevin is very pointedly not looking at him. It's not surprising. Andrew used to think Kevin could be more than he was, too, but it's clear that somewhere along the line he got it into his head that he could never best Riko. He probably still thinks Riko will show up in his room one night and murder him.

“Give it up, Neil,” Seth says. “He's a coward, and you're an idiot if you think he's going to change because of a few people dying.”

Neil waits for Kevin to disagree, and when Kevin doesn't, he pushes away from the table and stomps out of the room like a two-year-old.

*

It's Andrew and Renee's night to keep guard, and they do it as efficiently as they always do, one eye on the feeds and the other on an old set of cards Renee still keeps around.

“Look who's finally back,” Renee says, pointing out one of the screens with a fingernail. 

“The runaway didn't run away,” Andrew says. “What a surprise.”

It's not really. Andrew didn't expect Neil to stay gone—he was angry, not scared, and angry people don't just disappear.

What is a surprise is Neil coming straight to them instead of showering and going to sleep like a normal person.

“You can go to bed, Renee,” he says. “I'll stay up with Andrew.”

“But we were having so much fun!” Andrew says. “Look, Neil, we were playing Go Fish! I'd play with you but you'd probably lie the whole time.”

“Yeah, I'm much better at Bullshit.”

“Unexpected honesty,” Andrew says, grinning. “Maybe we'll have fun after all.”

“You don't have to stay up, Neil,” Renee says. “I can give you two a few minutes. I wanted to get a coffee anyway. Andrew?”

“Three sugars,” he says, and waits for Neil to say something.

“You need to convince Kevin,” Neil says.

Andrew opens a window and pulls out his cigarettes. He offers one to Neil, who accepts. “Don't need to do anything.”

“He has to be brave,” Neil says. “If he doesn't, this is the end of the line. Not just for us. For the whole resistance. It's too big a missed opportunity, and if they killed protestors in Michigan, what's to stop them from doing it here?” 

Andrew has just taken another pill, but he doesn't feel like it right now. He feels empty, the sharp bite of his anger there at the corners of his vision. He wants the meds to kick in. He's annoyed they haven't already. 

“He's not going to do it unless you tell him to,” Neil says.

“He is not my puppet,” Andrew says.

“No, it's the other way around, right?” Neil says. “You make sure he doesn't die, and he gives you a job in a year or two? You drive him around and make sure he doesn't have panic attacks in public, and he'll find a way to keep you drunk and high once you leave Fox Tower?”

It's more complicated than that, but not by much.

“Do not talk about things you know nothing about.”

“Fine,” Neil says. “But I know this. The Michigan protest got stamped out immediately. People are going to lose hope if someone doesn't show up to restore it. That has to be someone they already know and love.”

“Convenient,” Andrew says, “considering no one knows or loves you.”

Neil doesn't flinch, only gazes back at Andrew with the defiance of someone who prefers detached anonymity. Andrew can't say he blames him. 

“So. Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Ask him to do it.”

Andrew doesn't answer for a long time, but Neil doesn't press, only sits there, letting the cigarette burn out in his hand. When it reaches his fingertips, he takes one last drag, then stubs it out against the table and doesn't ask for another. 

Neil is incredibly irritating in all possible ways, but this one, his tendency to just quietly wait for Andrew to respond instead of pushing the way everyone else does or disappearing the way everyone else does, is the worst. Andrew's resolve, for all that it is iron, has to rust eventually. 

“You know how they say you're never supposed to meet your heroes?” Andrew says. “They must have been talking about you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You keep trying to make Kevin into something he isn't.”

“I'm trying to make him into what he should be.”

“And what's that?”

“There's not going to be a revolution without a spark,” Neil says. “I'm trying to turn him into the spark.”

That's what Andrew thought Kevin would be when he first showed up here. Kevin quickly demonstrated that all he was capable of doing was hiding and spouting off political theory, as if it mattered when they were all underground.

“You want the world to catch fire.”

“Not the whole world. Just the Moriyamas.”

“I'll ask him,” Andrew says. “But he is going to disappoint you. Our heroes always do.”

“Who's your hero?” Neil says.

“Superman. Shame he never showed up when I was in foster care.” 

“Kevin isn't a fictional character.”

“No, but the version of him in that binder of yours is.”

“We'll see,” Neil says.

Andrew smiles. “That we will.”

*

“I hate this,” Kevin says when Andrew finds him the next day. He's always so moody lately, like he's stuck in a hell of his own creation and can't do anything about it. Which, Andrew supposes, he sort of is. “We are making no progress. Six people disappeared in Michigan, and the Moriyamas say—what? That they just vanished into nowhere? And they've doubled how many people they're listing from that state thanks to the uprising.”

“Don't tell me,” Andrew says. “You're _worried_? About innocent civilians?”

“Not everyone gets to drug away reality, Andrew.”

“No one else is crying over that spilled milk, Kevin.”

“Neil is,” Kevin says.

Neil is trying to mop it up—fruitlessly, but trying, which is more than they can say for Kevin—but Andrew doesn't tell Kevin that.

“I was supposed to protect them,” Kevin says. “That is what I was raised for. Protect freedom. Protect the people.”

“Don't be naive. That was never the job of the Moriyama militia.” That's the original group Kevin belonged to, back when the Moriyamas were gaining power as a political and business force funding half of Congress but hadn't taken control of the White House yet. “You were always there to keep down unrest.”

“That is not what we were taught.”

“What were you taught, then? That you were saving people from themselves? That installing this type of government would be better for everyone even if they didn't want it?”

“This isn't how it was supposed to happen,” Kevin says. “This—endless fake war. Pretending people need to die overseas to protect America when they are just dying so the Moriyamas can scare people into staying under their control.” He flexes his injured hand. It's healed okay, given his only medical care was from a nurse and an EMT. “They were mine to protect. That's what they taught us, even if they didn't—” He stops, staring at the uneven way the bones in his hand set.

Andrew puts his hand in Kevin's line of vision, blocking Kevin's from view. “Tragically, the people are never going to love you back.”

Kevin turns to look at him. “They already love me.”

“Then save them.”

“What?”

“You know Neil is right. If you do not take an active role, no one is going to take the resistance seriously.”

Kevin's eyes widen. Andrew takes his hand back: Kevin should have the consequences of his attempt at fighting back in full sight if he's going to make the decision now.

“Since when do you care?” Kevin says.

How can Andrew explain it to him? That Neil asked him to say something and it felt like it might be more fun to see Kevin actually try to beat the Moriyamas than watch him cower here in this bunker until Riko finally slips his leash and attacks the Foxes? That it's the first time since Kevin showed up that Andrew has let himself—stupidly, but Andrew isn't immune to stupidity, never has been, if he were maybe his life wouldn't be such a fucking mess—take an interest in something?

“I don't.”

“What if Riko comes here?” Kevin says.

“He will not.”

“What if he does?”

“Then he will not live to regret it,” Andrew promises. 

The thing about Kevin, the thing that keeps Andrew by his side, the reason Andrew doesn't distance himself from him the way he does with Aaron, is that Kevin always believes him. Even if he thinks what Andrew is promising is impossible. Even if it is impossible. 

“Okay,” Kevin says. “I'll do it.”

*

“Good news,” Nicky says the next morning over breakfast. “Kevin's going to be our Moses.”

“No way,” Matt says. “Really? Who convinced you?”

Kevin glances at Andrew, who stares at Neil, who stares right back at him. 

“Neil, was this you?”

“No,” Neil says. “It was Andrew.”

Someone drops a utensil. Andrew turns to look, already smiling. 

“What?” he says. 

“Since when do you give a shit?” Seth says.

“Since when do you?” Neil shoots back. “If you actually cared, maybe you'd put more energy into helping us figure this out than you put into being a dick.”

Seth opens his mouth to respond, but Dan says, “Okay, fuck it. Let's get some planning done. Renee, Nicky, grab your laptops and meet us in the strategy room. Matt, do you still have any of those patriotic song recordings?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so you get those, and maybe bring your keyboard down. The rest of us will gather food and meet you all there.”

The theme of the video—settled upon by minds more sentimental and angry than Andrew's own—is a simple question: How did this happen? 

It's the thing people who aren't sophisticated political scientists don't understand, and even most sophisticated political scientists don't dare say a word lest they end up disappearing in the middle of the night, the story on the news the next morning that they fled to Russia or another enemy the Moriyamas are locked in nuclear chicken with. 

But the Foxes have access to those secret scholarly articles, and better yet, they have a Ph. D. to English translator in Kevin, and he breaks it down for them. 

It started because the Moriyamas had enough money to fund half of Congress. That might have won them legislative power, but it wasn't until the war started that they won the executive branch and set about taking apart the Constitution. 

A single group in charge of Congress and the presidency, plus the power to pack the courts, plus an endless war and a reinstatement of the draft, plus the new conscription system, plus the fact that no one ever seemed to return from the war, equals this. 

The Moriyamas used the war as an excuse to stay in power. They used it as an excuse to start listing people. It's the draft with randomness stripped out of it, military without the honor, soldier without the paycheck. An army of reluctant slaves who do what they're told because if they don't, they'll die, or worse, they'll disappear. Sometimes parents receive a notice saying that their child died honorably in Russia or China or France, and sometimes they just stop hearing from them. 

Population growth in the U.S. has dropped. Everyone is terrified of having a child the government can hold over them, or a child the government might “randomly” select to fight abroad.

“If they're going to die anyway, listed soldiers can protest without real fear, right?” Matt says. “What if that's our message? Fight your leaders since you're the ones with the weapons? Power in numbers?”

“If they protest, the Moriyamas will disappear their families and call them traitors,” Kevin says. “If they run away to a shelter city, the Moriyamas can use it as an excuse to attack the city.”

“So how did this happen,” Neil says, drumming his fingers on the table. “What are you going to say?”

“We forgot the ideals that we founded the nation on,” Kevin says. “Democracy and freedom.”

“Again, Kevin,” Dan says. “Slaves.”

“I didn't say it was perfect,” Kevin says. “But we forgot. We put paranoia above freedom.”

They put together the video. It's mostly Kevin spouting off about the Founding Fathers and the establishment of a republic interspersed with the consequences of the Moriyama administration—video of the Upper Peninsula protest, video of the military they got from the Nittany Lions, cuts of people being slaughtered in old war movies. They pump in Matt's twisted version of “America the Beautiful” in the background, which he recorded on an old piano in what used to be the dorm's first floor lounge and then fucked with in some program on his computer. 

The video is graphic and sure to tug at some heartstrings and piss some people off. Which is, of course, the goal. 

“I'm Kevin Day,” he says at the end, looking every bit the politician even with that number two tattooed on his face, “and I approve this message.”

*

Renee is figuring out how to get the video into the maximum amount of people's inboxes overnight, and Andrew is sitting next to her trying and failing to focus on a book while he comes down from his meds for the evening when Allison calls.

“It's about Neil,” Allison says. “Is Andrew still up?”

“Yes, and you are on speaker,” Renee says. “It's just me and him in the room.”

“Neil's file is there now,” Allison says. “Andrew, you won't like this—his name is flagged. If he's caught, he gets brought directly to the Moriyamas”

“What?” Renee says, startled. “Why?”

“I don't know,” Allison says. “They must have something on him. Or he must have something on them.”

It's consistent with what Neil told him, that his parents stole from the Moriyamas. Neil's trail must be well-disguised if it took them this long to figure out who he was. 

“He needs to stop going on those runs all the time,” Allison says. “He's going to get caught.”

“He will not get caught,” Andrew says. 

“Thanks, Allison,” Renee says. “You're the best.”

“Tell that to the monster,” Allison says, and then the line goes dead.

*

Surprising no one, Neil gets hurt when they're practicing with knives, an ugly gash on his shoulder that tears his t-shirt. It doesn't seem that deep, but Neil completely ignores it and hurls knives at a target with his injured arm until everyone else has stopped to stare.

“Neil, you're bleeding,” Dan says.

Neil looks at his shoulder. “Yeah, I'll clean it after.”

“Maybe Aaron should take a look.”

“I'm fine.”

“You cannot just say you are fine,” Kevin says. “I told you not to lie about your health.”

Andrew missed that conversation somehow. Maybe when Kevin was teaching Neil how to shoot and Andrew was ignoring them to nap outside.

“Okay,” Neil says. “I'll go get a bandaid. Happy?”

He puts down the last knife. He hit the bullseye every time. Andrew rubs at the corner of his mouth. Pretty good with knives for someone so scared of them.

Mostly out of curiosity, Andrew follows Neil out of the room, into the elevator, and down the hall into Neil's suite, where he digs through one of the main first aid kits for a bandaid big enough.

“What?” Neil says when Andrew laughs at his choice: some medical tape and gauze. 

“Did you lie to me?” Andrew says. “How can someone so obsessed with survival be so dismissive of his own injuries?”

Neil hesitates, hand loose around a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and turns to look at Andrew.

“When we were on the run—it was either keep moving or die. It didn't matter if the injury was life-threatening. Staying put, or going to a hospital where they'd ask too many questions, or sometimes even going inside a CVS—not being fine meant being dead.”

“You are not on the run anymore.”

Neil looks down at his hands, flexes his fingers, and then abruptly looks back up at Andrew. The shade of brown is unnatural, Andrew thinks, even if those little rings around his irises weren't a dead giveaway. 

“I know,” Neil says. “Thanks to you.”

Aaron and Nicky come in before Andrew can respond, startling Neil.

“What's going on?” Nicky says.

“Neil's just updating me on the various tragic underpinnings of his background.”

Neil glares at him. “It isn't _tragic_.”

“Oh, Neil,” Andrew says, but he's stopped from continuing by Aaron reaching for Neil's arm and Neil's sharp flinch backward.

“I'm just checking if you need stitches,” Aaron says. “Relax.”

“What, you're going to sew me up?” Neil says. “I can bandage it myself.”

“What if gets infected?” Aaron says. “You're going to go to the doctor and get an antibiotic prescription?”

“Fuck off,” Neil says, rolling his sleeve up.

“Neil, he knows what he's doing,” Nicky says. “Besides, it's not like you can wrap a bandage with your left hand, right?”

Neil glares at all of them, but Nicky is so obviously right that he deflates.

“Fine,” he says, and lets Aaron clean and dress the wound, even giving him a reluctant “Thank you” when he finishes.

“Don't mention it,” Aaron says. “Andrew probably would've made me anyway.” 

His phone vibrates, then, and he glances down at it, then across the room at Andrew. For a moment, he looks almost apologetic, but then the expression disappears and he slinks out of the room to answer the call.

*

Mostly Andrew meets with Betsy via end-to-end encrypted video chat on his phone, but she comes to see him in person this week since he needs a refill of his meds.

“We haven't been able to get them,” she says without his having to ask. “I'm sorry, Andrew. I'll have David bring them by next weekend. Do you have enough to tide you over until then?”

He makes a mental calculation. Usually he takes three a day, and he has twenty-two left—enough for just over a week. He can cut it down to two if he has to, though it'll mean spending more of his day sleeping or vomiting or crackering. That means he has eleven days worth of pills, and the next strategy meeting with Wymack is a week and a half away, the morning after Halloween.

“It's cutting it close,” he says.

“I was thinking we might need to start easing you off them anyway,” Betsy says. “The withdrawal can be painful, so it's best to go with gradually lowering the dose instead of a cold turkey detox.”

Andrew grins. “You don't think I'll be _dangerous_?”

“Part of the Foxes' conditions for your staying with them was that you be treated,” Betsy says. “You are being treated. I think the medication at this point is doing more harm than good.”

To his liver and kidneys, maybe, but if it keeps him distracted enough to not focus on everything he used to focus on, they’re probably all better off. Andrew runs a finger along the sheathed tip of the knife at his forearm and stares at the glass figurines Betsy has arranged on her shelf, all in a neat little grid. She has a shelf like this in her office in Columbia, too. He imagines himself sober, smashing them all to bits, and takes a pensive sip of his cocoa.

“You're quiet today,” Betsy observes.

It's true. “I'm thinking about destroying your shelf.” He smiles at how it doesn't seem to faze her even a bit. 

“Why would you do that?”

“Because that is the kind of thing sober Andrew does.” 

“When you put your fist through a window over the summer. Were you sober then?”

“Yes.”

“And last spring, when you punched the wall?”

“No.”

“What about when you used to self-injure?”

“Mostly yes. Once or twice no.” 

“There seems to be no correlation between your tendency to self-harm and your sobriety,” Betsy says. 

“I was not worried about self-harm.”

“You didn't seem worried at all.”

“Preoccupied, then,” Andrew says. “When I was sober, I fought all the time.” With his classmates, cellmates, foster families. Anyone who came within a few feet of him was at risk.

“Have you considered that your fighting less now is more a consequence of the circumstances of your surroundings and your maturity than it is due to the medication?”

“If it's so useless,” Andrew says, “why have I been on it this entire time?” Wouldn't that just be fucking rich, all that money wasted, all that sleep wasted, withdrawal on weekend nights for _nothing_ —and not that he cares about this type of thing, but the wrinkles he's going to get from smiling so much are going to make him look fucking absurd. He has to laugh at the image, especially since he knows he won't live long enough to see old age in the mirror.

“Do you think it's useless?” Betsy says once he's stopped.

“No,” Andrew admits. He was so angry before the medication, angry at his abusers, Aaron's mother, _Aaron_ , Luther, himself. Now there's nothing. Everything is hilarious. He probably wouldn't have survived that much anger for much longer, but he doesn't know if this is preferable. 

“As long as we take you off it gradually, and under strict supervision, you should be fine,” Betsy says. “I'll get you some anti-nausea medication to help with the withdrawal if it gets really bad. I think I have some samples to tide you over for the next week or so until David gets you your refill. The next time we talk, we'll discuss how best to lower the dosage.”

Andrew stands to leave, resting his mug on a coaster on her desk. 

“Andrew,” Betsy says.

He looks up.

“I don't think you're going to smash them once you're sober.” 

Andrew bares his teeth at her. “Didn't know you were a fortune teller as well as a therapist, Bee! Where's your diploma from Hogwarts?”

“It's getting framed,” Betsy says dryly. “I'll see you next week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I just want to stress that whatever it may sound like, this weird American idealism that Kevin has does not represent my views. At least not lately lol. Also, do any of you go to/support Penn State? What the hell is a Nittany Lion?  
> 2\. In the original draft of this chapter, Neil was drinking a Coke, but I changed it to Pepsi because if Pepsi can't stop the Moriyamas, what can?
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com) | [main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com)). Please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo! I edited this with a headache and in a wrist splint so typo-spotting is especially appreciated <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick disclaimer: the views of american politics presented in this chapter are really, really cynical (for obvious reasons), and I'd say they don't accurately reflect my views except, like, we're kind of living in our own dystopia right now so maybe they do.
> 
> also, please take a moment to look at the warnings in the tags if you haven't already. if any of those is a potential issue for you, let me know here or [on tumblr](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com/ask) so I can tell you what to avoid this chapter.

“Alright, Neil, you went to high school in Arizona, so I'm going to assume your knowledge of civics is limited at best,” Dan says one morning. She's carrying an armful of textbooks. “That joke would've been funny before the Moriyama administration, too.” 

Neil, true to form, doesn't laugh. “Why do I need to know about civics?”

“Because if you're going to take such an active role in getting Kevin to do shit, you should probably at least understand what we're doing.” She hands him the books. “Ask Kevin for help. He can do, like, a crash course.”

Kevin looks delighted upon stumbling upon a Neil who has charts about checks and balances spread out in front in of him a few minutes later.

“Do you need anything clarified?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Neil says. “Why does everyone says the Moriyamas got rid of democracy? It looks like it's running the same as always.”

Kevin hesitates. “Sort of. The three branches still exist, and elections still happen, but—the Moriyamas and their allies have enough money that they've funded three quarters of Congress, so.”

“It just happened? Just like that? They took power, and no one noticed or cared?”

“People noticed, but not the right ones, and not enough to do anything about it.”

“But there's an election in November,” Neil says. “The entire House and a third of the Senate are up for reelection. Why aren't we doing something about that?”

“We are,” Kevin says. “Not us, but other groups—the Lions in New York, the Minutemen in Amherst—people are campaigning in districts that actually have a chance of unseating some of the Moriyama Congress. And the video should help, especially since Election Day is in—” He looks at a calendar. “Two weeks.”

“Would that actually do anything? Them winning?”

“Well—they are unlikely to gain a majority, so it would be symbolic, and the president is always the most powerful when we are at war, so the Moriyamas would not lose much of their stronghold. There will not be a presidential election thanks to the twenty-ninth amendment a few years ago that says there won't be a presidential election when the country is at war, and Congress will choose Ichirou as the lord's successor even if they only have a simple majority.” 

“You're saying all of this is useless.”

“Not if Congress is more scared of the people than they are of Moriyama money.”

“How is that supposed to happen?”

Kevin shrugs. “Us.”

“Can I just ask a quick question?” Neil says. “Why haven't you been teaching me this from the beginning instead of all the John Locke bullshit?”

Kevin, equally impatient, snaps, “Because if you do not understand the foundations you will not comprehend the system or the way it fell apart.”

“Tell him about Citizens United next,” Andrew says. “That's _gripping_ stuff.”

“He is being sarcastic,” Kevin says. “But it's true.” 

He tells Neil about Citizens United. It's riveting.

*

“I have a proposition,” Neil says.

He does this sometimes now, shows up in Andrew's room unannounced to see how deep under Andrew's skin he can get. 

Andrew turns to look at him and waits.

“The rest of the Foxes should come with us to the Halloween party.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “I really don't think they should.”

“No, they absolutely should,” Neil says. “We're all supposed to trust each other, right? How can you trust someone you barely know?”

“No one trusts anyone here,” Andrew says.

“The Foxes are supposed to be a family,” Neil says. “What kind of a family can barely sit down for a meal together?”

“You know as well as I do that that word doesn't mean much.”

“You said you wanted the Moriyamas ousted within the year. For that to happen, you have to stop breaking us in half.”

“Don't have to do anything.”

“I'm not asking you to be their friend,” Neil says. “I'm just asking you to give them an inch.”

“You think they'll want to come?” Andrew says. “They hate us.”

“Why?” Neil says. “What did you do to them?”

Andrew smiles. “We took Matt and Dan to Eden's Twilight when they arrived here. Separately, of course. You should ask Matt about what happened.”

“He's told me already,” Neil says. “You finally broke his drug habit.”

“For Aaron,” Andrew clarifies. “We couldn't have an addict here pulling him back down.”

“Dan seems to think you tried to murder him. Is that just a misunderstanding?”

Andrew doesn't flinch, but it's a close thing. “I don't like that word.”

“Murder?” 

Andrew shakes his head.

“Misunderstanding?” Neil looks bemused. “Pretty benign word to not like.”

“You don't get to judge my issues, runaway.”

“That's fair,” Neil says. There's a pause. “Let them come.” It goes up at the end again, a question disguised as a command. 

“Why should I?”

“When something happens, we're going to need to be able to trust and respect each other if we want to survive,” Neil says. “You don't have to build the bridge. You just need to let me buy some bricks.”

“It's the twenty-first century, Neil. Bridges aren't made out of bricks anymore.”

“It's a metaphor.”

“You're not good at metaphors.” Andrew considers it. “Tell them to come, then. See if they have the guts to say yes.”

Neil looks triumphant. Andrew grins at him. “It won't make a difference. You'll see.”

“You're wrong,” Neil says. “You don't like the situation we're in anymore than I do.”

“What do you know about what I do and don't like?”

“I know you don't like depending on those drugs.”

“Do you?”

“You're going to have to go off them eventually, right?” Neil says. “What happens if your pharmacy decides to stop carrying them? What if they stop taking Dobson's prescriptions? What if we can't leave the building? You need to be on your game all the time, or we don't stand a chance.”

Classic Neil. Only capable of caring about anything in the context of the rebellion—and yet somehow cutting a millimeter too close anyway.

“Hopefully I never go off them,” Andrew, who has been sick since his last meeting with Betsy, says. “Don't you like it when I'm happy?”

“That's not happy.”

“How would you know?”

“You obviously want to be sober.”

“I don't want anything.”

“You want things,” Neil says. “You want Kevin here, which means you want me to stay. You want the Moriyamas taken down. You want something to live for, or you want to be able to want it. You want—”

Andrew presses a hand over Neil's mouth to cut him off. What he doesn't want is to hear any more of Neil's shitty psychoanalysis.

“Shh, Neil, shh. Just because you're interesting now doesn't mean you will be once I'm sober.” He really should know better—Neil only ever has eyes for the exit. “You're more trouble than you're worth.”

Neil stares at him, perplexed. His lips are warm beneath Andrew's hand. Andrew jerks his hand away and grins up at Neil.

“Get out of my room,” Andrew says. 

Neil doesn't look back.

*

It takes a week for the video's effects to show themselves.

There are a series of protests at voter registration events taking place the week before the election—nothing is explicitly anti-Moriyama, but there are notes of it, things about money and its impact on democracy, people wondering how much their votes really matter when they color in boxes on ballots instead of signing their names at the bottoms of checks. 

An op-ed is published in the formerly free, now blisteringly sycophantic New York Times. The writer says the protests are a symbol of how well their democracy is working—after all, the writer says, if it weren't a truly free democracy, no one would be allowed to protest, like in Iran or Turkey. The comments tear the writer apart, disappearing almost immediately after they appear, and then the site shuts down unmonitored commenting on the article.

A dozen more shelter cities pop up, mainly across the southwest, areas geographically farthest from Moriyama influence.

The two big wins: first, the last polls before election day come up, and candidates supported by the Moriyamas have dropped in some polls in some states. By a lot in some of those states, not by much in others, but still: Moriyama people have been holding double digit majorities ever since the Moriyamas started investing in politics twenty years ago. They aren't anymore.

The second big win: there's a protest outside the White House that quickly gets snuffed out, but not so quickly that it doesn't end up plastered across social media (again: quickly taken down; even more quickly reposted on the dark web). 

There's another in Baltimore, one of the biggest Moriyama strongholds thanks to the Butcher of Baltimore, who is currently leading an assault on some poor unprepared eastern European country. It gets stomped out, too, by Butcher people who clean up their messes much more neatly than real butchers.

There's a third in West Virginia, outside Castle Evermore, the famous Moriyama estate. Everyone protesting there ends up looking like evidence that Constitutional freedoms, despite being underwritten by new amendments, are still part of the fabric of American culture, and aren't the Moriyamas benevolent to let people riot outside their ancestral home? 

It's a mixed response, but the fact that there are uprisings at all mean people are unsatisfied and trying to express that dissatisfaction, which means whatever repression they're experiencing has loosened. Only a little, but loosened nonetheless.

Kevin is, for once, optimistic. He's smiling all the time, cheerful, hopeful.

Just kidding.

He has never been more consistently drunk in all the time Andrew has known him. He's barely capable of moving, actually, slumped on the couch as he is, and when it comes time for Andrew to go out to buy Halloween costumes, Kevin says, “Just leave me. Leave me here to die.”

“I'll watch him,” Neil says. He's supposed to be getting a civics lesson right now, which is why he's in their living room, a thirty year old banned textbook on his lap. 

“While he lies here, dying?”

“He thinks the Moriyamas are coming for him,” Neil says. 

“If they do, how do I know you won't sell him out?”

“He's annoying. Maybe it'd be better for all of us if I did.”

His lack of concern for what Andrew will do to him is interesting, but then, he hasn't been scared of Andrew since the beginning. Even when Andrew had a gun on him. But Neil isn't brave—he just has bigger things to be scared of. Andrew smiles. 

“Hey, Neil.”

“What?”

“Kill him and you die. Then neither of you survives.” 

Neil doesn't look impressed by the callback. “It'd make your life a lot easier.”

And he'd have a lot less reason to keep himself alive. He laughs. “That's true. Maybe you should do it and we can see what happens.”

“Andrew,” Renee says, standing in the doorway. “It is time to go.”

“Sorry, Neil,” Andrew says. “We can't keep haggling like this. Duty calls.”

Neil's hackles are up anyway: he's somehow more wary around Renee than he is around Andrew. Sees right through her Jesus facade—or maybe that's what has him so freaked out by her. Maybe he's scared she'll exorcise him. Andrew almost suggests it, but then Kevin shifts on the couch and starts to snore.

“We should go while he is asleep,” Renee says.

She's right. Even Kevin can't start much trouble like this. They leave.

*

“What made you want to invite us?”

They're at the costume megastore in Columbia, a seasonal pop up next door to a Wal-mart that they're also supposed to be stopping by. Andrew debates restocking his meds while they're there—Renee is with him, and she could distract the pharmacist while he snuck back, but there's no guarantee his particular anti-psychotic will be in stock, and they might end up on camera. 

Andrew shrugs. “Neil asked, and I thought it might be funny.”

“Why would it be funny?”

“Never seen Seth and Kevin drunk together,” Andrew says. 

Renee smiles at this. “A friendship we don't see enough of.”

She's dancing around what she really wants to ask, and they both know it. Andrew picks through aisles of costumes while Renee pulls her hat lower over her head. She goes out the least of all of them these days and it's obvious in her clothing choice, which covers her even more heavily than usual even though her hair is bleached silver-blond and the photo of her that's circulating along with other pictures of listed teenagers features her three years younger and with her natural dark hair. 

“He doesn't like you, you know,” Andrew says, because he's nothing if not an instigator and he's never met anyone who just didn't like Renee. Who knows how she'll react?

But she just smiles wider. “I know.”

“He thinks you don't make any sense,” Andrew says. “Like you're a wildcard.” 

“Well,” Renee says, leveling casual shrug at him, “I am.”

“My running theory is that he doesn't trust anyone who trusts God.”

“Does he trust anyone at all?”

Andrew considers it. What was it Neil said? About needing to trust each other?

“He wants to,” Andrew says. 

“That's familiar.”

Andrew grins. “That's pointed.”

“Is it?”

“You should know better, Renee. I don't want or need to trust anyone.”

“Everyone needs someone, Andrew.”

“Not me.” He pulls a costume off the rack. “Let's get out of here before someone decides you're a celebrity and posts a picture of you online.”

“Stop it,” Renee says, as confrontational as she's liable to get, and follows him to the checkout.

*

“Neil, settle a bet,” Nicky says.

Their usual table at Eden's Twilight won't fit all of them, so they've dragged over extra chairs and crowded around it. Seth is drunk, leaning heavily on an equally drunk Kevin, and it's a gap in the dancing during which they've settled for drinks and Halloween-themed bar snacks. Allison's there for the night, wearing a skintight Catwoman costume complete with mask to disguise herself. Andrew is only just coming off his meds considering he's supposed to be keeping his occasional sobriety a secret from the members of this group who aren't explicitly under his protection, but he's isn't planning on having another dose before the end of the night. Crackers, alcohol, and acting will have to get him through it.

“I don't bet,” Neil says.

“Doesn't mean we don't bet on you,” Allison says. 

“I have fifty dollars riding on this answer,” Nicky says. “You swing my way or Allison's?”

Andrew, who has mostly been ignoring this conversation in favor of trying to determine the best way to sneak off unnoticed, glances up at Neil, grinning.

“Which way are you betting?” Neil says.

“You've been here for months and you haven't looked at Allison's tits once, but you're weirdly retentive when it comes to gym facts,” Nicky says. “Which way do you think?”

If Seth were more sober, this is no doubt where he'd insert some homophobic comment or other. As it stands, he's flicking at Kevin's hand and not paying a lick of attention to the topic of discussion. Even Aaron stays quiet, fiddling with his phone and sipping more slowly than usual at his drink.

“You're wrong regardless,” Neil says. “I don't swing.”

“What do you mean, you _don't swing_?” Allison says. “You're, what, nineteen years old, and you don't swing in any direction?”

“Not everyone has to swing in one way or the other,” Matt says, ever amicable. “Some people—get this—even swing in multiple directions!”

“I know _that_ , asshole,” Allison says. “Obviously wasn't the question. Fess up, Josten.”

“If he says neither, it's neither,” Dan says. “You're just pissed you lost two hundred bucks betting on him being gay just because he hasn't hit on you.”

“Wait, I want to see the exact terms of the bet,” Matt says. “Did we bet on him not being straight? Or on him being gay?”

“I bet on him not being gay,” Dan says. “Which means—” She holds out her palm. “Pay up, kids. Next round's on me.”

Neil looks bemused at this line of questioning. Andrew rolls his eyes.

“I'll get more drinks,” he says.

“Hey, wait,” Kevin says. “Are you going to disappear for like an hour like last time? Because I'm coming with you if so.”

Andrew opens his mouth to object—or he can just _tell_ Kevin, it's not like he'll care or like it'll matter if he does—but he's interrupted by the lights and music cutting off. The sudden silence is eerie: they've been shouting over the music for the past fifteen minutes, and now there's just nothing.

Then—maybe worse—screams.

“What the fuck?” Dan says, voice cutting through the darkness. “Is this just a Halloween thing?”

“They would've told us,” Aaron says. “We used to work—”

Then, gunshots.

“Okay, fuck this,” Nicky says. “We need to get out of here.”

“Right,” Dan says. “Right—everyone grab a buddy who knows where the fuck they're going and get back to the cars.”

“The cars?” Matt says. “Are you kidding? Who among us is sober enough to drive?”

“Neil and Renee,” Dan says. “We have Matt's truck and the monster mobile. Let's _go_.”

They almost make it. In the flood of phone flashlights, all of them half-running hand-in-hand with each other, they must look ridiculous—but they almost make it.

They're cut off by a group of three Ravens, and at their front, because of course, of _course_ , they'd think this would disarm the Foxes' best weapon, at the front, smiling and looking at Andrew like he's a snack, eyes flicking over to Aaron, is Drake.

Andrew starts to laugh.

“Andrew?” Nicky says. He sounds panicked. 

“AJ!” Drake says. “It's been so long.”

“Drake,” Andrew says. “All the way in South Carolina. Who sent you?”

“I've made some new friends.”

“Drake?” Aaron says. “Drake _Spear_? Your foster brother?”

Andrew starts laughing again, but this time it won't stop, peal after peal of manic laughter, so much it makes his head hurt.

“Andrew,” Neil says. “What—”

“You two can leave,” Drake says. “Tell the king I've got what he wanted.”

The other Ravens scatter, leaving Drake facing the Foxes alone, that smile stretching over his face. Andrew doesn't dream, but if he did—

“I missed you, AJ,” Drake says. “Is this Aaron? You two are so cute.” 

Andrew has six knives on his person: one in each wristband, one at each ankle, another pressed against the flat of his back, and the last one at his waist. He wants to go for one of them—any one of them—but his hands are shaking so hard that he can't get his fingers under the fabric.

“Riko says I can have both of you, you know,” Drake continues. “Don't you think it'll be fun? A matching set, writhing on a bed for me—what are you doing?”

Andrew's fingers curl around the handle of a knife at last, but he's too late: Aaron has stolen the gun Neil keeps on him and is pointing it at Drake. Neil looks as shocked as Aaron that he managed to get it.

“Get the fuck out of our way,” Aaron says.

“You're coming with me,” Drake says. He has a gun, too, but he's too slow, and by the time it's cocked, he's already on the floor, Aaron's bullets in his head. He's always been a good shot.

Aaron turns to look at Andrew. Now they're both shaking. A matching set. 

“What did he mean?”

“You remember what Luther called a misunderstanding,” Andrew says. “You knew what he meant.”

“Andrew, I—”

“Are we really doing this right now?” Seth says. “Let's _go_.”

“Check if he's alive,” Dan says. “Someone check if he's—”

Neil takes his gun back from Aaron's slack grip and darts forward, kicking the body. “He's dead,” he says. “Andrew, stop laughing, stop, he's dead—he's—”

Andrew forcibly closes his mouth, but he can't keep the smile off his face, even when Renee slots her fingers back into his hand and tugs him forward. 

“Come on,” she says, voice more gentle than he expected, which doesn't make any sense, because it's Renee and her voice is always gentle. “We need to get out of here, and no one's leaving without you.”

“Move,” Seth says, more harshly.

Andrew's legs are wobbly. It's an odd disconnect, his physical reaction to seeing Drake die in front of him compared to his mental one. He starts to laugh again.

“Andrew,” Aaron says. “Andrew, he's dead, he can't touch you.”

Touch.

“Did he touch you?” Andrew says, but even as he says it he knows they didn't even get within arm's reach of each other. He lets go of Renee and seizes his brother's arm, holding on so tightly that he can feel the bone there. Absurdly he thinks of the bone in his own forearm, multiple layers down, tucked beneath muscle and skin and scar tissue, knives and wristbands and sleeves.

“Andrew, if we don't move, Aaron's going to get arrested and we're never going to see him again,” Neil says. “Let's get out of here.”

Andrew moves in Neil's general direction, dragging Aaron with him. Nicky leads the way to the back door.

It isn't over. Of course it isn't. It's Jean and Riko who cut them off at the exit. Two of them, ten Foxes—they should be able to win, except that Jean and Riko have multiple semi-automatic weapons and the Foxes only have all the knives on Andrew and the gun Neil can't aim. Still wobbly, Andrew lets go of Aaron (Drake is dead, Andrew tells himself; Aaron is safe) and pushes past Neil to get to Kevin. 

“Well, well, well,” Riko says. “Looks like the Foxes are out of their den.”

“Corny,” Dan says. “I give it a three out of ten.”

“Dan Wilds, the fearless leader. I've read all about you. How does a stripper become the rebellion's brightest star, do you think, Jean?”

“None of the other stars are very bright,” Jean says. He's looking at Kevin when he says it.

“Kevin! Is that you?” Riko says. “So good to see you out and about. How's the hand? Healing okay?”

Kevin is in full fight-or-flight mode, except that he's evidently gone with the third and rarely discussed “freeze” option, because he hasn't moved. Andrew steps in front of him and puts on his very best medicated smile.

“Riko,” Andrew says, and is pleased to see that Riko, too, has a triggerable fight-or-flight response even if it does make him go for his gun. “You really shouldn't have shown up here.”

“Have you run into your brother yet?” Riko says. “A special surprise, just for you.”

Something surges in the back of Andrew's throat. Riko brought Drake _here_ , after everything Andrew did to keep his brother and Drake apart, getting himself arrested, getting himself listed. Andrew ruined his own life to keep them away from each other, and Riko brought them together. He's going to kill Riko. He's going to relish it, too.

“Drake's dead,” Andrew says. “Just like you will be, soon enough.”

Riko visibly pales. Armed to the teeth and still scared of Andrew. There's something satisfying in it.

“This is supposed to be neutral territory,” Matt says. “You don't want any more deaths here tonight, Riko. They'll be traced back to you, and—”

“Oh no,” Riko says, smile returning to his face. “How _did_ this happen?”

“You didn't like the video,” Seth says. “What? You scared of getting called out? Worried Daddy'll be upset you let your toy get out, and then in one five minute video he destabilized your entire government, so now you're going to kill us?”

“We aren't here to kill you,” Riko says. “We're going to let you all go free. Just hand over Kevin and the new kid, and we'll call it even.” He looks past Kevin at Neil. “What's your name again? Alex? Stefan? Chris?”

“It's Neil,” Neil says. He looks like he's about to leave them all standing there and tear off in the opposite direction. Andrew wills him to stay put—he doesn't feel like running after him just now, with the contents of his stomach roiling, some combination of withdrawal and shock.

Allison laughs. “Right, kid. There are ten of us and two of you, so move over or—”

“Who are you?” Riko says, tilting his head to the side. “Easy to be brave when you're wearing a mask, isn't it?”

“Easy to be brave when you have top of the line machine guns and we have one handgun.”

“That's true,” Riko says. “Let's level the playing field, shall we? Jean?”

Jean takes a different gun out—a glock by the looks of it—and cocks it.

Then he shoots Seth in the head.

The peripheral Foxes scramble to Seth's body, but Riko only has eyes for Kevin.

“That's your warning,” Riko says. “Come back to us, or the rest of your friends die.”

“Get fucked, Riko,” Neil says. “He's not going anywhere with you.”

Jean looks at Neil like Neil's just spit on Christ's grave or something, which is a vast overreaction in Andrew's opinion. 

“Hasn't anyone taught you not to speak to your superiors like that?” Riko says. 

Neil pulls his gun out of its holster at the small of his back. 

“Get out of here,” Neil says. He's holding it right, at least, which is lucky, because Andrew doesn't know if Kevin would be able to resist correcting him. “You have three seconds before I shoot you in the head. I don't care who comes after me.”

“I do not respond well to threats, Neil Josten,” Riko says, moving closer. “When Kevin returns to me, you will come with him.”

It's over just like that, Riko and Jean departing like they haven't just flipped everyone's world on its head.

“We need to get to a hospital,” Dan says. “Come on—Matt, give me a hand, I can't—”

“He's dead,” Allison says. “There's no point in going to a hospital.”

Her voice is so empty of emotion that it's almost eerie, but her hands are shaking from where they're positioned, one on each side of Seth's head as if she can hold it together. 

“But a doctor might be able to—”

“We can't go to doctors,” Allison says. 

“Allison—”

“Dan, I'm holding his brain in my fucking hands,” Allison says. “He's _dead_ , we need to _move_.”

“We can't just leave him here,” Matt says.

“What are we supposed to do? Bury him outside Fox Tower?”

“Allison, you're not—”

“Of the three of us, I'm the only one thinking straight.” Allison pivots to look at Andrew. She glares at him over her mask, cat contact lenses making her look absurd instead of what she's obviously going for, which is intimidating. “I'm right, aren't I? We have to leave him here and get out before cops get here and start asking questions.”

Andrew shrugs, but Aaron answers her: “Only if you care about cops finding us.”

“Especially you,” Allison says. “Right?”

Andrew steps between her and Aaron. “Right,” Andrew says.

“Columbia police are only going to look the other way for so long,” Allison says. “They're not going to look the other way on two dead guys at a nightclub.”

“How did they find us?” Matt says. He's looking at Andrew. Andrew doesn't look back. “They found you when you were here before, too, right? When Jean showed up?”

They're all thinking it, but it's Nicky who says, “No one here would sell us out. You already checked.” 

“We don't know that,” Allison says. “He could've missed someone.”

“We'll talk about it when we're safe,” Dan says.

“Allison,” Neil says. “Give me your phone.” 

He's looking at Seth.

“Why?”

“Just give it.”

Dan plucks it from Allison's back pocket and tosses it Neil's way, then almost grabs it back when Neil starts taking pictures of Seth's corpse and Allison's bloody hands.

“Neil, what the _fuck_ —”

“For the next video,” he says. “People need to know what Ravens do to people whose lives they think are worthless.”

Dan's mouth drops open, but Allison doesn't react other than to stand up and take her phone back. She wipes her hands off on her legs and pulls out her car keys, then pushes past the rest of them to get to the door. 

“Let's go,” she says. “I hear sirens.”

They go.

*

Andrew throws up in the monster mobile, Neil screeching to a stop in time for Andrew to push open the door and retch, then speeding off again almost before the door is completely closed. Nicky pats Andrew on the back because he can't keep his hands to himself, and Andrew feels awful enough that he can't find a reaction.

“Where are your crackers?” Nicky says. 

“I don't think that's withdrawal,” Aaron says.

“I have some,” Kevin says, passing back some packets, but Aaron is right for once. It isn't withdrawal, at least not completely. 

Andrew dumps them into his mouth anyway and closes his eyes, wishing the fog away.

Neil drives faster.

*

By the time they get to Fox Tower, Wymack, Betsy, and Abby are already there. Betsy is probably there for Andrew's benefit, but none of them are injured, so he can't think why Abby is there.

Actually, he can't think at all. There's a buzzing in the place where his thoughts usually are, off-topic and scrambled and dangerous but there nonetheless. Now it's just white noise, loud enough that it hurts Andrew's head. His hands are still shaking, which is absurd, because just seeing someone shouldn't be enough to cause this.

He thinks that, under the shaking and buzzing, he can almost feel something. Anger, maybe. Fury. Tucked beneath everything else, layers and layers, like the bones in his forearms. Rage, coiled tight.

He can't control it anymore. He nudges Kevin and takes a pill. They're obviously going to up all night, and Andrew's resolve is strong, but even his own masochism only goes so far.

“Someone must have eyes on Fox Tower,” Dan says when they've all sat down. “This is the second time something's happened on a trip to Columbia.”

“Matt didn't find anyone the first time,” Nicky says. “And when we went a few weeks ago it was totally fine.”

“A few weeks ago isn't now,” Allison says. She's taken the mask off, but not the contacts. Her hands are still have some of Seth's dried blood on them, and her hair is matted to her forehead with sweat. “Riko was really pissed about that video.”

Wymack stares at her. “Allison—”

“What?” she practically snarls. 

“You're going to need to leave tonight,” he says. “My state police buddy says Palmetto needs to go on lockdown. They're on high alert starting at nine a.m.—anyone who leaves the city after that is going to end up searched and possibly arrested.”

Wymack is supposed to be here tomorrow with more of Andrew's meds. Andrew turns to Betsy, who shakes her head at him, frowning a little. He thinks about the pill he swallowed not long ago, how it must be dissolving in his stomach by now, how much he wishes he could drag it back up and save it for when he really needs it.

“Yeah, Andrew,” Wymack says. “You're going to have to detox a little earlier than planned.”

There are a few sounds of protest around the table. Andrew props his chin on one of his hands and surveys the other Foxes, grinning.

“One more thing,” Wymack says. “They're calling Seth a violent lone wolf. They'll say he went to the club, shot Drake, and then shot himself when the cops showed up. No one's going to know there were Ravens there.”

“Until we tell them,” Neil says. 

“Really?” Aaron says. “Your stupid video just got Seth killed, and now you're planning another one?”

Neil opens his mouth like he's going to respond, but his eyes flick over to Allison's and he shuts it again, deflating. 

Wymack watches all of this with passing interest, then says, “We're doing a resistance-wide video conference. Dan, stay here. Rest of you, go talk to Abby or Betsy if you need to, then go to bed. There's nothing else we can do with all of you drunk and exhausted. We'll talk again before I leave.”

They filter out, Matt and Renee going toward the lounge in the suite Renee and Dan share while Nicky leads Andrew, Kevin, and Aaron toward the kitchen to wait for all of them to be called back into the strategy room. 

Aaron is staring at Andrew. Andrew looks anywhere else, from Neil's still-stricken face to Kevin's drawn one, and Aaron gives up.

“I'm going to bed,” he says. “Wake me if there's any news.”

“Me too,” Nicky says quickly, following him out of the room.

It's quiet without them. It was quiet with them, too, but it's more noticeable with only Andrew, Kevin, and Neil left.

“It wasn't your fault,” Kevin says. 

Neil's head jerks up. “If I hadn't—”

“No,” Kevin says, shaking his head. “Seth's life meant nothing to him and less to Riko. He would've died before the end of this anyway. Besides—Jean killed him, not you.”

His voice catches on Jean's name the same way it always does. Neil seems to notice, because he says, “Why didn't Jean leave with you?”

“I asked him to,” Kevin says, looking at nothing. “He was too slow. He couldn't make up his mind—whether it would be better out here or in there.”

“Is it?”

“Is it what?”

“Better out here.” 

Kevin's gaze drops to his left hand, its array of thin white scars and misshapen bones. He clenches his fist.

“Yes,” he says. 

“So you think we should keep going anyway,” Neil says, which is cold, even for them. “The Seth video.”

“We can film it tomorrow,” Kevin says. “Until then—” He looks at one of the many liquor cabinets in Fox Tower. “I am going to drink.” He means with Aaron and Nicky—Kevin doesn't do anything alone, not even drink.

“We'll get you when there's news,” Neil says, because he obviously isn't going to sleep tonight and thinks Andrew won't either. And, Andrew thinks, smiling, he isn't. 

It's quiet again for a moment. Andrew almost feels alive again, or as close as he gets to it. 

Neil looks at Andrew. 

“Why do you go off it?” he says. “When we go to Columbia? If the withdrawal is so bad?”

“My mouth gets sore,” Andrew says, which isn't the right foot to start this off on if he's going to get any answers out of Neil, but he surges ahead anyway. “Here's what I want to know, Neil. How can you be simultaneously so terrified of death and so methodical in your attempts to incite a revolution?”

Neil doesn't look impressed by this evasion. “Compartmentalizing, mainly.”

“I didn't know you knew big words.”

“You'd be surprised.” A pause so short it barely counts, and then: “Who's Luther?”

“Nicky's father.”

“And the reason you hate the word misunderstanding.”

Andrew smiles into Neil's face, which is mostly blank. That's a lie, too, as much as the brown eyes and black hair.

“He said Drake was a misunderstanding.”

“He said I was too unbalanced to be able to tell the difference between normal brotherly affection and abuse.”

Neil's gaze is pitiless, which is a relief.

“No one can come in or out,” he says. “You're finally getting sober.”

“For now,” Andrew says. “Technology has made many advances in the last thirty years, but it is still impossible to send actual matter over encrypted video chat.”

“How many do you have left?”

“Enough for the rest of the weekend.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Ask around,” Andrew says. “A teacher said I was 'joyless and destructive' before the meds. I'll probably kill you all.” A real lone wolf. 

“That's bullshit and we both know it,” Neil says. 

Andrew cocks his head to the side, curious.

“If nothing else, Kevin wants to see you actually care about all this, and he thinks that'll be possible once you're off your meds.”

“He'll be disappointed. I'll never care about this.”

“But you must think it's possible you'll give a shit after, too, right? Otherwise what's the point in all this?”

“Oh, Neil,” Andrew says. “I'm not like you. Anything he asks, you do. Anything he asks, I refuse. He's going to give up eventually.”

“You really want someone else to give up on you? He's one of maybe three people who want you off your drugs.”

“Only because he wants something from me,” Andrew says. “Other than that, he's just as scared as the rest of them.”

“What if he's right? What if you wake up and suddenly you care? Will you lie to him just to keep pissing him off, or will you let him win?”

Andrew laughs. “You're an idealist. That's so weird.”

“You wouldn't be here if it didn't mean anything to you.”

“Oh, Neil.”

“That's not an answer.”

“That wasn't a question. It was a misguided accusation.”

“Here's a real question, then,” Neil says. “How have you survived this long when you're so violently self-destructive?”

Andrew finds himself puzzled. Neil actually wants him off the drugs, which makes the two of them and maybe Betsy, maybe Kevin when he's feeling generous. Everyone else here thinks he'll end up slaughtering them in their sleep if he goes off them, even Kevin, but Neil hates that manic laugh more than he fears what'll replace it. 

“That's what I want to know,” Neil continues. “Are you so afraid of your own happiness, or do you honestly like being miserable all the time?”

“Neil, Neil, Neil,” Andrew says, and points up at his smile. “Do I look miserable to you?”

“You look drugged within an inch of your life,” Neil says. “And when you're not medicated, you're drinking and dusting. When you run out of your medicine, who are you going to hurt, really?”

Andrew laughs. “I'm remembering why I don't like you.”

“Surprised you forgot.”

“I didn't,” Andrew says. “I just got distracted. I told her it was a mistake to let you stay, but she didn't believe me. Now look.” Seth dead and Kevin acting brave. Maybe Neil's going to get them killed after all. 

“Renee?” Neil says.

“Bee.”

He has to laugh at Neil's visible reaction to that, his distaste for Betsy obvious in the set of his mouth. The poor kid considers himself a good liar, but he can't fake it for shit. 

“She's going to help you get sober,” Neil says. 

“She likes you, you know,” Andrew says. “She has a thing for lost causes.”

“I am not a lost cause.”

Andrew presses his hand over Neil's mouth. “Liar,” he says. “But that's what makes you interesting. It's also what makes you dangerous.” He should know better by now, he really should. “Maybe I'm not as smart as I thought I was.”

He's said too much, and he knows it. He takes his hand back.

“I'm going to find Kevin,” Andrew says. “Sleep tight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could just be titled “Andrew and Neil experience trauma, then flirt in the middle of the night”
> 
> If you're interested in campaign finance (I'm convinced it's one of four or five things in the last 40 or so years that's royally fucked American politics), [Stephen Colbert did an interesting series](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cPckw5N-x9g) before the 2012 election about super PACs for which he straight up won a Peabody.
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com) | [main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com)). Please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some sui ideation in this chapter. But it's more like ideation of ideation if that makes sense? Or a reference to past ideation? In any case, [message me on tumblr](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com/ask) if you need/want more of an explanation. Mentions of self-harm as well. I swear it's not as dark as it sounds.

Betsy stays with him at Fox Tower for a month and a half. 

Getting sober starts with a detox that drags everything out of him, three weeks of nausea, sleeplessness, vomiting, head-splitting pain, and sheer fucking frustration. For three weeks, he barely eats, barely sleeps, and sits alone in his room two floors above where everyone else lives because every time Betsy comes in when he's anywhere near conscious, he kicks her out. 

His knives are taken away. He hates it even if he understands why, knows that in these moments where he has absolutely no self-control he should not be around his usual array of blades—but all the same, it's like he's trying to detox from two things at once without them.

Betsy says he can have visitors. She tells him Nicky, Kevin, Renee, and Neil have all inquired about coming to see him. He tells her there's no way in hell he wouldn't split one of them from nose to navel with a piece of broken window if they showed up, and she keeps them out. 

After the detox is rehab. Typically it would be accompanied by group therapy. Andrew's done group before, and it almost got him sent back to juvie for refusing to say a single word. 

Considering the circumstances, group is just him and Betsy. That's fine with Andrew. She knows everything there is to know about him anyway, and he doesn't mind telling her more. 

There are a lot of bad days, and then one day there's just—nothing. And then the day after that is bad again, and then again, but then after that, there's nothing.

The drugs still have their allure. Of course they do. He was taking them for years, and they were more bandaid than cure but he remembers everything, and so of course he remembers what he was like before.

Sobriety isn't what he expected. Instead of the burning, all-consuming rage he kept barely-tethered before he started taking the meds, there's just … nothing. A big gaping emptiness where once there was something approximating emotion, fucked up as it was. He feels hollow. Or, no, not hollow. Locked up. He doesn't know if it's a result of the trauma or if the meds fucked up something chemically in his brain, but the point is, while the rage is there and he can access it, he can't _feel_ it, not the way he used to, all directed inward like it was going to eat him alive.

The inside of his head is blank. His internal monologue—gone. It's quiet. 

He stares at himself in the mirror. He looks awful, sleeplessness and weight loss drawing his skin tight across the bones of his face. He's been trying to work out in between splitting headaches, but he feels physically weaker, too, more brittle, like if he hits something he'll snap on impact. 

“We'll see how you adjust,” Betsy tells him. “We won't be able to try a different medication, obviously, but it seems to me that what you're feeling right now—or not feeling—is more a result of the withdrawal process than—”

He stops listening.

Sometimes, her face is comforting. Just now, it seems like there's a glass screen between them, her voice sounding duller somehow even though it should be the other way around, shouldn't it? Weren't his meds making him numb to the rest of the world?

Is this recovery? Is this what being stable feels like? All this … nothing?

Andrew stands up and walks to the window. Betsy keeps talking, though he hears her chair scrape back when he pushes the curtains aside and looks down.

“Andrew?” Betsy says. 

First, he feels—like it's insulated, bubble-wrapped, but felt nonetheless—his usual response to heights. A prickling at the back of his neck. His pulse accelerating. If he keeps looking, bile will start to rise in his throat. 

And then he feels relief. It's only one feeling, fear, but it's there, and it's his. He presses his fingers against the window and stares at the grass on the ground, exhales slowly and admires the way his breath fogs up the glass.

“Andrew,” Betsy says, sharper this time. 

Andrew goes back to his seat.

“You're afraid of heights,” Betsy says.

“I'm afraid of falling,” Andrew says.

“Still?”

Andrew looks back at the window. From this distance, all he can see out of it is deceptively blue sky.

“Still,” he says.

*

They decide after that that it's time to reintroduce him to the rest of the community at Fox Tower.

“I'll stay for another week,” Betsy says. “After that, we can switch back to video chats.”

Andrew nods and follows her into the elevator.

“David doesn't want any of you leaving the building unless it's an emergency. We have no idea who is watching you, or why, but state police have been around more than once.”

Andrew watches the numbers drop. Six to four to two to basement to lower level two.

“I'll come see you when I can,” Betsy says. “Andrew.”

“Yes, Bee.”

“You're doing great.” 

She smiles at him, warm, and he's sure it used to be comforting. She doesn't follow him into the strategy room, which means when Andrew opens the door, he does it alone.

Every face pivots to look at him. Andrew glances at Kevin, sees that he is—apparently—unharmed, and settles between Kevin and Neil.

“Welcome back,” Wymack says on conference call. “Feeling okay? Good, because we can't afford for you not to. We've been holding off on more videos because we didn't want to put Kevin in the line of fire without you here, but—”

Andrew half-listens to the rest: a plan for a video, more videos, as if PR is enough to launch a revolution. Kevin saying that maybe it's a bad idea for them to do more videos—guilt over Seth. Or fear for his own life, more likely.

Neil is completely ignoring the video call, instead choosing to watch Andrew, as if Andrew can't see him. There's an odd swoop in Andrew's stomach he wasn't expecting, desire quickly snuffed out by irritation, which means—no, it's not something chemically fucked up in his brain. Betsy was right. It's just him, and Neil, this thing he shouldn't even consider wanting, this thing he thought was probably just a side effect of the drugs, is sitting next to him.

Unlike Neil, Andrew doesn't need to stare to remember the details of someone's face. The slant of his nose, the intensity of his gaze, the pale blue under those awful contacts. But he thought he might have imagined them. 

Andrew doesn't want, mostly because he doesn't allow himself to. He doesn't want like normal people do, only a little bit and then he's fine and if it hurts maybe he doesn't want it anyway. No. The one time he wanted something it almost ripped him apart, and he wanted it anyway. 

So he doesn't want this. 

Andrew pushes his chair closer to Neil's almost subconsciously, and Neil doesn't move, even when Andrew's shoulder is pressed against his. 

He's real, then. Yet another unfair phenomenon in a world full of them.

When the meeting ends, Andrew flags down Nicky. Neil glances up, exchanges a look with Nicky, and then leaves them in the room alone.

“How are you feeling?” Nicky says. “Do you want to get something to eat? Or work out, maybe?”

“Tell me what happened.”

“A lot,” Nicky says. “There was—well, there was a fight, I guess. People were worried about you staying here after you went off your meds.” 

He looks apologetic, but there's nothing to apologize for—no one here wants Andrew here anyway, no one except for the people who rely on him for their survival. Andrew is comfortable with that.

“You know how it was,” Nicky says quickly, reading something undoubtedly incorrect on Andrew's face. “Seth had just died, the news was saying it was a murder-suicide 'cause of Drake and the fact that they were both shot by glocks, everyone was a mess. So—yeah. There was a fight. It resolved itself, though, 'cause Neil stood up for you.”

Andrew forces himself not to react, but it's a surprise. It shouldn't be: Neil always hated his smile.

“I said you'd been court-mandated to take them since, like, right before you were listed, but Neil just kept saying they were going to drive you insane,” Nicky says. “And everyone—well—”

Everyone probably said he was already insane. Andrew doesn't spare Nicky, just waits for him to spit it out.

“I didn't even realize he liked you,” Nicky says. “But he said you were better off with them gone, and that you defended everyone so the least everyone could do was let you make decisions about your own health without their interference.” 

There's a pinch around Andrew's diaphragm. He pictures himself flaying the skin from Neil Josten's body, revealing whatever twisted thing lives beneath it, except he loses focus and the fantasy switches, so that it's Neil flaying him. Andrew continues to glare directly into Nicky's eye, testing Nicky's level of comfort being alone with him, especially like this, violent and joyless, because Andrew saw, he _saw_ Neil look over like he knew Nicky wouldn't want to do this.

“I told him you wouldn't be grateful,” Nicky adds quickly. “But he spent a lot of time preaching about unity while you were gone.” Like this is some kind of an explanation. “You know. We won't stand a chance unless we can all trust each other. United we stand, divided we fall. That kind of thing. I swear he was like, one bad sports movie from suggesting we do trust falls.” He gives Andrew a hopeful smile. “I kind of think it'll work, though, you know? Neil's right. We're more functional as a group. We do a movie night now, too, actually, and—” He pauses like he's sure Andrew won't let them go on even though Andrew doesn't care what Nicky does with his spare time. “You're invited, obviously.” 

“What else?” Andrew says.

“Aaron was sick for a while,” Nicky says. “He's okay now, though, don't worry—it was just a stomach thing, Betsy seemed to think it was guilt from killing Drake. Maybe he misses Katelyn since obviously we haven't been able to get out of Palmetto for a while.”

Of course. No one ever holds up their end of a deal. Andrew's known that for his entire life. The parents who were supposed to care for him by virtue of putting him on this literally godforsaken planet, social workers who were meant to keep him safe, foster parents who were supposed to actually _parent_ , foster brothers and fathers and uncles who weren't supposed to touch someone who didn't want to be touched, Luther, _Cass_ —

It's pointless to get frustrated about Aaron. 

Nicky keeps talking.

“Uh—what else? Allison's been in touch. She's been by, actually—looks like she can get in and out without much issue.”

Then why, Andrew wants to ask, has he been in _rehab_ for the past month and a half? If Allison could come in and out?

Except he knows why: Allison can't come by reliably, and detoxing now was better, cutting the habit altogether. It's better. Betsy thinks so.

“Kengo is really sick, too, apparently,” Nicky says. “There's all kinds of drama with that, but Neil or Kevin probably knows better than I do. Anyway, point is, he's still well enough that he's making public appearances, so it's not public knowledge yet, but the Nittany Lions are spreading word that he's ill. Just to sow doubt, you know. Speaking of which—have you seen Election Day results?”

Andrew has, actually. There was a TV in his room upstairs. 

“So they only came close to losing ten seats in the House and didn't win as wildly as everyone thought they would in the Senate, but still—it's a change, right?” Nicky is smiling at Andrew like he's waiting for something, but when Andrew doesn't give it, he charges onward dutifully. “Allison says Riko's attack wasn't sanctioned. Kevin thinks there's in-fighting within the administration, the Ravens versus the actual government, and that Riko might try to grab power from Ichirou when Kengo dies. Almost a military coup, right? Except the whole military isn't loyal to Riko, obviously—like I said, Kevin knows better—”

Another pause. 

“So, Kevin,” Nicky says when Andrew doesn't respond. His “my cousin's fucking crazy” voice is back, but Andrew just saw Kevin, and he looked alive enough to Andrew. “He drank a lot after Halloween. After Seth—you know. He said maybe he should just go, that Riko would take him back and forgive him, you know, the usual shit he gets into when he's drunk. Except it didn't stop, over the course of, like, a week. If Neil weren't here practically sitting on his legs, he'd probably be gone.”

Isn't that ironic, Andrew thinks. The runner trying to keep someone else from running. 

“He calmed down a little after the election results, but it wasn't, like, perfect, I mean—I mean, you know Kevin. He's been drinking a ton, hasn't really been sleeping, the usual. Neil's really annoyed with him, actually, because apparently he was expecting something else from the great Kevin Day.”

A pause, then: “Are you sure you're not hungry? You look like you've lost weight.”

Andrew looks at the whiteboard, which still bears traces of the meeting. Couldn't get his meds, but can get food just fine. Allison comes and goes as she pleases. A lockdown. Sure.

Nicky seems to follow this line of thought. 

“It's mostly just, like, nonperishables and frozen foods, but Allison dropped off like half a cow's worth of meat the last time she stopped by. I don't know how she managed to carry it, cows weight like fifteen hundred pounds, but she snuck it in.”

Allison is going to get herself killed just like her boyfriend.

“She's still torn up about Seth, you know? I think she almost wouldn't even mind getting caught. Then she could really go in on Riko.” Nicky is watching Andrew much more closely than usual. He probably thinks Andrew can't tell. “There's water, too. And beer.”

Andrew wonders what side Nicky was on in the argument. He's-insane-and-it's-not-safe or let-him-have-autonomy. He considers asking just to pick a fight, but then Nicky is leaning back in his chair, and the idea starts to feel played out and boring.

“Are you sure you don't want anything?” Nicky says.

“I'm sure,” Andrew says. “Get Neil.”

*

Andrew waits, but Neil doesn't show up, so Andrew goes to seek him out himself.

Neil is in the basement restrooms alone, leaning toward the mirror, examining the roots of his hair as if looking for lice. He's about the only person to actually gain weight in Fox Tower—he showed up with the build of a slightly starved high school athlete, and now with the combination of being force fed and forced to lift instead of just running, he looks bigger. Healthier.

No less jumpy, though: he startles when he catches Andrew watching him. His eyes are red.

“I need to leave Palmetto,” Neil says. “I need to go to—I don't know—Wal-mart, something.”

“Why?”

“Because I only had six months worth of contact lenses, and if I don't, I'm going to start looking like the person I really am in about a week.”

“Take the contacts out,” Andrew says. “You are going to blind yourself.”

“Better blind than dead.”

“It is not one or the other,” Andrew says. “Remember, you gave me your back. I'm supposed to deliver you whole to the brave new world. Take them out.”

Neil glares at him. He does look a little absurd, eyes bloodshot, roots significantly lighter than the rest of his hair, a genetically improbable auburn that still looks more realistic than the fading box-black of his hair's ends.

Then Neil turns back to the mirror and takes the contacts out. Immediately, he closes his eyes in relief. 

Andrew doesn't wait for him to open them. 

“I do not need your protection,” he says.

“What are you talking about?” Neil says.

“I do not need you to stand up for me. I don't care what anyone thinks.”

“They never would've kicked you out of Fox Tower,” Neil says. “They know none of this works without Kevin, and without you, there is no Kevin.” 

“I do not need you to clarify that to them.”

“Everyone needs someone.”

The Foxes have made him soft. Andrew almost wants to laugh. “You of all people know that isn't true.”

“Do I?” Neil says. “You watch everyone's back. Who watches yours?”

“I hate you,” Andrew says. “I thought I made you up.”

Neil and his bloodshot pale blue eyes look confused. Of course they do. “I'm not your imaginary friend.”

“You are a pipe dream,” Andrew says, because he doesn't know how to stop talking. 

“I'm right here,” Neil says, because he's monumentally fucking stupid. He takes a step toward Andrew, because, again: monumentally fucking stupid. “I'm not leaving.”

“You are a runaway and liar,” Andrew says. “Get out of my sight.”

*

Andrew hasn't been to the roof since the late summer storms, but he goes up early the next day for a cigarette. It's chilly out, as close to cold as it gets in South Carolina, and he nestles deeper into his coat when he sits on the edge and lets his legs dangle while he lights a cigarette.

Even like this, if he doesn't look, he doesn't feel much. There's nothing under his feet, but there's something under his ass, which is almost good enough. But if he opens his eyes and looks down, there it is: terror. The idea of falling, the ground simultaneously calling to and repelling him, like Andrew is a magnet that can't figure out its poles. He presses two fingers to the side of his throat and takes a moment to be satisfied by the quickening of his pulse. Then he anchors one hand behind the ledge and looks up instead, exhaling smoke.

He likes that smoking doesn't count in rehab. He likes that he can still do this, take in the harsh burn and let it all out again, except that it burns less when it comes out. He picked up smoking after he stopped cutting, a less direct form of self-harm, one people would disapprove of but not give him those flat pitying stares for.

It's a clear day again, the sky bright blue, the sun winter white. The wind is biting, but not so much that Andrew feels compelled to move. It carries his smoke easily, so that it dissipates almost as soon as he exhales, big cloud turning into nothing.

Behind him, the door opens and closes again. Andrew doesn't have to look to know it's Neil, but he looks anyway, takes in Neil in an ancient orange Palmetto State hoodie he must've found in some building or other during one of his idiotic long runs. He's carrying two mugs, and he holds one out to Andrew.

“Coffee,” he says. 

Andrew takes the mug and a sip. The coffee is hot, which is nice, but it's not sweet enough. Neil doesn't look surprised at whatever face Andrew makes; he holds out a bottle of honey.

“No more sugar packets,” Neil offers by way of explanation. “You can ask Allison to get you some, and I think there's some plain sugar in the kitchen, but.” A shrug. He makes himself comfortable next to Andrew, looking profoundly unconcerned with how easy it would be for Andrew to push him to his death. It might not even be on purpose. It might even be an accident.

“Pitting Ichirou and Riko against each other might actually work,” Neil says. “Allison's having people put out rumors that Ichirou is going to get rid of Riko, and Renee's sneaking some subtle anti-Riko stuff into online advertising. I think the Lions—the New York ones, I mean—have someone on their team who works at CNN and keeps asking people if maybe Riko isn't too volatile to be in charge of the Ravens, and then they also have someone who works at NBC who keeps suggesting that Ichirou is too soft, doesn't have military experience, you know the deal. The idea is obviously not to get rid of Riko—it's to make him and Ichirou into real rivals.” 

He looks pleased with the developments. Andrew rolls his eyes and passes Neil his pack of cigarettes.

“Are you capable of talking about anything else?” Andrew says.

“Like what?” Neil says, lighting a cigarette.

“I don't care. Just talk about something else before I give in to the urge to push you off this building.”

Neil leans over a little, and Andrew thinks it would be so easy, the lightest touch at the small of Neil's back and he'd go over the edge. 

“Do it,” Neil says. “I'd drag you with me.” 

He looks around at Andrew, still bent over, and there's the glint of a challenge in his eyes. Beyond him, the ground looks too distant, more than it did before, and suddenly Andrew feels something new. No—not new. The same thing he felt the first time he ever saw Neil, when Neil was the bright spot in the fog and Andrew's brain screamed, _danger_.

“What do you want?” Andrew says. 

Neil straightens and lifts one shoulder, but Andrew knows already: it's the same thing Neil always does, showing up in Andrew's room or the room with the CCTVs or Fox Tower. He's just here to annoy Andrew, peel back his skin and crawl in to see what he can find there. Andrew hates him. 

“Why?” Neil asks. “Am I bothering you?”

Infinitely. “Nothing bothers me.”

“Then why are you hanging off the edge of the roof?”

“Because pigeons and clouds are more interesting than you and your rebel group.”

“Our rebel group,” Neil says. 

His mouth quirks a little in disappointment, like his team-building exercises will have somehow made their way up several floors to Andrew while Andrew was busy throwing up and dizzily reliving the worst parts of his childhood. Andrew smashes his cigarette in his hand and tosses its remains into the wind, then steals the one Neil isn't smoking. 

Neil doesn't object, just leans back on his arms and looks at the sky.

“You're right,” he says. “The clouds are fascinating.”

A fall from the roof of a seven story building would definitely kill him, Andrew decides. He tucks the thought away for a rainy day and takes a drag of Neil's cigarette.

*

He readjusts. Though he's loath to admit it, being surrounded by people and activity again instead of just a quiet room and occasionally Betsy is helping, if only because he's too busy making sure Kevin doesn't panic and Neil doesn't get himself killed to focus on how empty he is all the time.

He doesn't sleep much. Withdrawal made him a deep sleeper on his meds, but off them, the slightest flutter in his room wakes him up. A snore from Kevin or a shift from Nicky has Andrew wide awake, staring at the ceiling, heart racing. 

He falls back asleep most of the time, but it still feels like some elaborate form of torture, like water pressure keeping him from touching the ocean floor when he's dropped something precious.

He spends his days the way he did before. Working out. Video conferencing with other rebel groups. Helping with strategy. Practicing with the various weaponry stolen by Seth before he died or purchased by Allison. Waiting for someone to fuck up and get Fox Tower blown up. Smoking on the roof, usually alone, sometimes with Neil showing up just to harass him. And—though he's still extremely loath to even consider it, let alone admit it—having Neil up there, reminding Andrew that he has an emotional trigger other than fear of heights, helps too.

*

They're halfway through the hour they've booked one of the gyms for when Renee says, “Not talking. Is that because of the drugs being gone or because you do not want to talk?”

“No one has anything interesting to say,” Andrew says, which makes Renee smile, though he can't think why.

She lands a solid hit after that, one Andrew can't dodge because she's right and he is faster on drugs, which means he's slower than he's used to off them. They keep fighting in silence until the hour is up and Andrew stays down. She sits down beside him, toying with the crucifix she wears, and Andrew can't resist.

“Still?” he says. 

“Still what?”

He gestures to the cross rather than elaborating. 

“Why not?”

“How can you believe in any of that when we live in a world like this?” Andrew says.

It's a tired conversation, one they've danced around and gritted their teeth through a hundred times. Andrew brings up that old paradox, how can God be benevolent and omniscient and omnipotent all at once, and Renee always replies with freedom of choice. It's less Andrew trying to convince her not to believe and more—if he's honest with himself, which he almost always is—trying to figure out how someone can put their faith in something so elusive and illogical, something you can't see, something that could just as easily slip through your fingers. 

“I like the idea that God never gives us more than we can handle,” Renee says now.

“So your whole life has just been God testing your limits?” Andrew shoots back.

But Renee only smiles. “Yes.”

“So—Seth. God never gave him more than he can handle until God put a bullet between his eyes.”

“Jean put a bullet between his eyes.”

“Riko tortured Kevin,” Andrew says. “Was that more than Kevin could handle? Was it because of God?”

“Kevin handled it,” Renee says. 

“You are not going to proselytize me.”

“I know.” Renee gets up and holds a hand out to Andrew. “Let's go again.”

*

“We have a conference with Britt and Jeremy soon,” Dan says, making herself more comfortable than is called for on their couch later that afternoon. “They want to hear our plan for post-revolution America.”

“Don't we need a revolution before we can have post-revolution?” Nicky says.

“Jeremy kept saying that all great books about dystopia warn you about what happens after the evil dystopian government falls, so.” Dan shrugs. “We're trying to get ahead of it. That's why I'm here. Kevin, your thoughts?”

“I should be in the meeting,” Kevin says.

“Not if you're going to say something stupid,” Dan says. “Consider this me vetting you.”

“It should be how it was before,” Kevin says, like it's obvious. “The same democracy, except with finance reform.”

“Are you serious?” Dan says. “You want to go back to the same system that led to this?”

“The problem was not the system, it was the people involved in it.”

“Yeah, and those types of people? Greedy fucks? They're _everywhere_ , and they always have been. It's human nature, right, Kev? Isn't that why you made us read Hobbes?” She rolls her eyes. “Maybe you should read something more recent than the French Revolution. Shit changes, dude.”

“Maybe, but there is not a more perfect system than the liberal republic we had in place. We just need to revise the rules so that—”

“So that what? James Locke would be happier with it?” Dan crosses her arms. “I've been reading about him, actually. Did you know the British used his shit to justify stealing land from Native Americans?”

“First of all, it's _John_ Locke—” Kevin says, and Andrew stops listening. 

He looks out the window instead; it's grey out, and the sky promises rain, but the air is still bone-dry. Still, even the blankness of outside is more interesting than hearing Kevin try to justify basing a new system off two hundred year old political theory or Dan try to argue that creating an entire system from scratch is something a bunch of twenty-somethings can realistically do.

They continue the argument until it's time to head to the strategy room, and Andrew trails after them, half-listening, tucking himself into his usual spot between Kevin and Neil while Renee starts the video conference.

Britt, it turns out, has no intention of discussing the future government.

“There isn't going to be one if we don't figure out how to end the current one,” she says. “Your videos are cute and all—”

“And effective,” Kevin shoots back, leaning into Dan's space to talk into her mic. “The Moriyamas almost lost in several districts—”

“Yeah, almost lost,” Britt says. “Which isn't losing. We need to do something that they can actually feel.”

“What, so you want to lead an armed march on the White House or something?” Jeremy says, frowning slightly. “We can't do that.”

“We don't have enough weapons,” Dan says. “We could arm ourselves and maybe twenty more people, but that's not enough to take on the full force of the South Carolina state police, let alone the actual government. Don't tell me you guys are hiding a stockpile that can arm us against the biggest military in the world.”

“What if we used explosives?” Britt says. “We plant them, get the fuck out of there, and a building goes up. It sends a message, right?”

“But what if you kill civilians?” Jeremy says. 

Britt rolls her eyes into the webcam. “The same civilians who don't give a fuck if we live or die?”

“That isn't fair,” Jeremy says. “Everyone is terrified their family members will end up dead. We—”

“My family members _are_ dead,” Britt says.

“He's right, though,” Dan says. “Even if you don't care about their lives—we can't kill civilians, or we turn into just another terrorist group. Moriyamas are justified in using force to get rid of us, and suddenly it's not so politically toxic to kill a bunch of draft dodgers.” She frowns. “What if we could make sure no one died?”

“How would we do that?” Britt says.

“We wait to hit a government building until, I don't know, a Sunday at three in the morning, or on a holiday or something, when no one is in there.”

“How can you guarantee no maintenance people would be in there?” Jeremy says.

“Dan?” Renee says. “We can see if we can get access to their cameras. We would have to do it anyway to avoid detection.”

“Did you hear that?” Dan says, relaying Renee's message. “What do you think?”

Someone in Harrisburg tells Britt he can do it, and Britt nods.

“We can handle it,” she says. “We're a two hour drive from D.C. Should we go with Congress?”

“No, start smaller, right?” Dan says, looking around at the Foxes.

“Send the message first, then follow it up,” Matt says.

“But what if they ramp up security?” Nicky says. “Or what if they actually start calling members of the resistance terrorists?”

“What if we just start with the draft office?” Neil says. “The people in charge of listing us.”

Dan repeats this into the mic, and Britt nods, approving.

“Knox?” Britt says. “You're awfully quiet.”

“I just don't think this is our choice to make,” Jeremy says. “We should take a vote with the other groups. We can't make this decision unilaterally when they'll all be in danger.”

“Jeremy is right,” Kevin says, loud enough that the mic must pick it up, because Jeremy beams. 

“We can have a country-wide vote with group leaders,” Britt says. “And everyone'll have to figure it out individually within their groups. Leader casts a ballot.”

One of the Trojans says something, and Jeremy relays it: “Laila's concerned that smaller groups like the Wildcats will end up having as much of a say as us, when there are hundreds of us and only a few of them.”

“The Trojans are also practically untouchable considering you're in California and the entire state is about five minutes away from seceding,” Britt says. “I think it'll balance out.”

“Yeah, agreed,” Dan says. "One vote per group."

“Okay, fine,” Jeremy says, though Laila still looks annoyed. “A vote. When?”

“Next month should give us long enough to figure it out,” Britt says. “Let's do a country-wide chat next week to talk it through.” 

She disconnects. Jeremy stares into the camera, frowning a little.

“You think this is a good idea?” he says.

“I don't know,” Dan says. “What else can we do?”

“I don't know,” Jeremy says. “We'll talk next week, I guess. See you, Foxes.”

He disconnects, too, and Dan turns to all of them.

“Okay,” she says. “What do you think?”

It's dead quiet, and then the room bursts into conversation. Andrew doesn't listen; there are no windows down here, and he doesn't have any paper on which to doodle. He tugs one of his knives out of his wristband and twirls it between his fingers, watching the way the light glints off the metal and thinking that every single person in this room has a death wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't it cute how I brushed aside the entire big states v small states debate with one sarcastic comment from an OC? I would've killed at the Constitutional Convention. 
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com) | [main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com)). Please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo.


	7. Chapter 7

“I don't think it's a good idea,” Aaron says, not looking away from the video game he and Nicky are playing. “Look what happened the last time.”

“Do you want to be stuck in this building forever?” Neil says. “What about Katelyn? I thought you wanted to be a perfect little doctor couple.”

“Don't talk about Katelyn,” Aaron says, squeezing the controller like he's trying not to hit Neil again. “You got Seth killed, and right now it's looking a lot like you want to get the rest of us attacked, too.”

Neil looks to Kevin, of all people, for backup. How he still has faith that Kevin will not shirk any and all responsibility when it comes to fighting against Riko is astounding.

“Kevin, you know we need to do this.”

“He is right,” Kevin says, not looking away from his book.

Neil opens his mouth and closes it again, but then he says something in vicious French that makes Kevin flinch. Of course he speaks French. Their talented little Harry Houdini. 

“We need to be careful,” Kevin says in English.

“You're fucking joking.”

“Aaron is right,” Kevin says. “Seth ended up dead.”

“Yeah, and he wouldn't want us to just sit here like fucking—fucking _cowards_ , waiting for everyone else to get hurt while we just sit around doing nothing.”

Says the man who is always, always ready to run and leave all of them, Andrew thinks.

“Guys—” Nicky says, and is promptly ignored.

“You agreed to this,” Neil says. “In October. After Michigan. You agreed.”

“Things have changed.”

“Yeah, and they've changed in our favor,” Neil says. “We have the footage. We have the pictures on Allison's phone, we have a script, we just need _you_ —”

“You and Matt getting all buddy buddy and typing up some insults in your dorm room does not equal a script,” Aaron says. “You—”

“Fuck you, Aaron,” Neil says. 

“No, fuck you, why are you always so ready to risk all of our lives? Don't we get a say?”

“You're part of a resistance group,” Neil says. “So why are you always trying to stop anyone from resisting?”

“I'm not,” Aaron says. “I just don't want the rest of my family fucking slaughtered by the Ravens.”

“Sure,” Neil says. “Because you really give a shit about your _family_.”

Aaron is probably going to hit Neil again. Andrew sits back a little, waiting, but Neil rounds on Kevin before Aaron can do anything.

“You're scared,” Neil says. “But you can't just be scared forever. We're missing the opportunity to jump on the new Congress's swearing-in to remind them who they're actually accountable to—”

“You didn't even know people still voted for Congress two months ago,” Aaron cuts in.

Kevin is staring at the floor. Neil can't hide his disappointment. Andrew told him not to meet his heroes.

“Kevin,” Neil says, a little desperately. “They killed Seth. We can't just do _nothing_.”

Kevin looks up, frowning at Neil. “You're right,” he says.

Well. Color Andrew surprised.

“You'll do it?” Neil says. 

“Yes,” Kevin says. “But we have to take precautions this time. More late night drills, more weapons in everyone's bedrooms—we have to be prepared for an attack.”

“What if they just drop a fucking bomb on us?” Aaron says.

“They will not,” Andrew says. “Remember? They are trying to seem benevolent.”

Aaron opens his mouth and closes it again. Meanwhile, Neil's face is wide open before he meets Andrew's eyes and it shutters again.

“Right,” he says, somehow managing to convey relief with just that one word. “Come to our room. We can show you what we've come up with. Nicky, can you come help us edit?”

Nicky glances at Aaron, who is sitting next to him, stiff as ever. “Yeah, sure, I'll come by after this stage.”

Andrew slides off the couch and follows Neil and Kevin out of the room. Someone needs to make sure they don't fuck everything up.

*

Renee is a computer genius. Andrew doesn't know how, considering she spent most of her teenage years in a gang, but apparently she learned in high school and kept learning outside of high school. Even now, that's her thing, what she does in her spare time when she isn't fighting or praying. She learns more cyber security.

“Did you want to talk?” Renee says. Andrew doesn't know what there is to talk about—the violence debate is happening right now, Dan and Kevin in a conference call with the rest of the country. “Or are you just here to watch?”

“To watch,” Andrew says, dragging a chair over next to her desk. 

She's playing the video over and over again while she revamps their website's encryption. Kevin's tinny voice comes out of her laptop's shitty speakers, more of that “how did this happen” bullshit except with an answer this time, pictures of Seth's bloodied head flashing by along with video footage of the Michigan uprising months ago, all cut with video of the Moriyamas laughing and enjoying their rule. It's a little ham-fisted, but then, they are trying to appeal to the same people who voted for the Moriyamas in the first place.

He stays there for a while, just watching her code. It's soothing: Kevin's voice turns into white noise when it's combined with the incessant tapping of her fingers on the keyboard, and while one monitor is just the ugly video repeating, the other is a black screen that she's typing white letters into. Andrew can't begin to understand how any of this works, but it functions as calming anyway, especially when he's still not sleeping through the night.

“Kevin says Aaron and Neil are fighting over whether this should actually get put out,” Renee says eventually. “What do you think?”

“I think they are all fighting a pointless war.”

Renee smiles at her computer like Andrew is saying something very cute. “And you?”

“I am, too.”

“Then why are you still doing it?”

“Because,” Andrew says, and he really is very tired, “what else am I supposed to do?”

Renee turns to him, smile fading. “It is not pointless,” she says.

“Eternal optimist Renee Walker strikes again.”

“It isn't.”

“Okay.”

“Andrew.”

“Yes, Renee.”

“It isn't.”

He looks back at the monitor with Seth's bloodied face on it. Nicky threw an American flag up behind him, which is so cliché that Andrew actually can't be bothered to roll his eyes.

“Sure,” he says, tired of disagreeing, and Renee's look of concern doesn't budge. 

There's a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Renee says, and smiles when Neil opens the door. “Hello, Neil! What's up?”

“Nothing, I—” Neil looks at Andrew. “Um, I just wanted to see if you wanted a cigarette.”

His discomfort with Renee is as hilarious as it is unsurprising. Andrew gets up and pushes past Neil first to the kitchen to grab alcohol and then to the elevators.

Neither of them says anything until they get to the roof. Neil drops onto the ledge next to Andrew, always an inch closer than anyone else dares but still just out of Andrew's personal space, like he sees a bubble that he's supposed to keep out of.

Andrew offers him a cigarette. Neil takes it, but he still doesn't say anything. It can't be cabin fever that sent him up here—Neil is the only one of the Foxes who still regularly leaves Fox Tower, though he doesn't go far, just runs a few outdoor laps through the old Palmetto State campus since he is incapable of staying put.

He doesn't smoke the cigarette, just holds it in his hand, tapping it at odd intervals and just entirely wasting it. Andrew's stock isn't exactly running low, and Allison still brings cartons by most of her visits even though Andrew is the only Fox who smokes now that Seth is dead, but it irks him anyway. Cigarettes are expensive.

“Our honesty game,” Andrew says, because silence is fine but coming from Neil it seems wrong somehow. “Do you remember it?”

“Yes,” Neil says.

“Ask me something,” Andrew says. 

“You and Renee.”

Andrew waits, but there's nothing else from Neil.

“That isn't a question,” Andrew says to prod him along.

“Why hasn't it happened yet?”

Andrew stares at him, trying to figure out if the question of Andrew's relationship with Renee is what has Neil so agitated or if it's just a distraction from the meeting currently taking place without him in the strategy room.

“It doesn't matter,” Andrew says.

“Everyone's betting on it.”

Andrew thinks that he hasn't thought about the Foxes' bets in months, maybe since that night at Eden's Twilight when everyone was trying to squeeze Neil's sexuality out of him.

“But you don't bet,” Andrew says. And he doesn't swing. There's something sour in the back of Andrew's mouth, and it takes him a moment to place it: _want_ , tight enough that the words stick in his throat for a moment, and then fear so potent that it's like he's standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon—and then both snuffed out almost immediately by burning hatred. “It doesn't matter to a man who doesn't bet.”

Neil ashes his unsmoked cigarette. “It doesn't.”

Doesn't it? Andrew wants to say, but Neil isn't looking at him, is instead glaring at the sky like it has somehow personally wronged him. Andrew has the urge—again—to shove him off the fucking building. He wills Neil to turn around, meet his eye, do—something. But Neil doesn't.

“Sometimes you're interesting enough to keep around. Sometimes you are so astoundingly stupid I can barely stand the sight of you.”

“Seems like an overreaction,” Neil says, frowning at the clouds. “Whatever. I'll ask Renee.”

“You'll have to talk to her first,” Andrew says, returning his attention to his cigarette.

There's something odd about it. It prickles at the back of Andrew's neck for the rest of the evening, until he catches up with Renee before they meet with Dan and Kevin about the violence meeting.

“Neil's going to ask you why we aren't together,” Andrew says.

“What should I tell him?”

“I don't care. Tell him the truth.”

“Why didn't you just tell him the truth?”

“Call it an attempt to mend your relationship,” Andrew says. “Maybe he is interested in you.”

“I doubt that,” Rene says. “I weird him out.”

“Ten dollars says he talks to you this week.”

“This week,” Renee repeats. “He has barely spoken to me since he got here.”

“Then take the bet.”

She takes it.

*

It's decided among the Foxes that violence is a good idea. The Foxes will vote that way when it comes time for them to vote in a few weeks. Kevin has ideas for what they should hit—“Castle Evermore would be the best, but it's dangerous”—as does everyone else. Someone suggests the prison where draft dodgers are kept in South Carolina, which doubles as the municipal building that releases the lists of South Carolinan teenagers sentenced to sure death in the war every summer. Others suggest state police, an army base, the White House.

“All good ideas,” Dan says. “I'll suggest them during the all-hands vote next month.” She looks at them, something like trepidation in her gaze. “Hey, if we're fucked, we're fucked regardless, right?”

“Right,” Matt says, ever supportive.

“By the way,” Dan adds, “everyone really likes the Seth video. Allison texted about it, too.”

Kevin ducks into himself, but he's pleased. Neil is practically puffing his chest out, which is to say, he's glaring at Kevin. 

They're all still—somehow—alive.

*

Renee loses.

She hands him the money the next night when they're sharing a watch.

“You weren't all the way right, by the way,” she says, accepting the coffee he passes her. “He did not just want to ask about why I wasn't dating you. He wanted to know why you were not dating me, too.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I'm not your type.”

“How did he react?”

Renee arches an eyebrow at him. “You know how he reacted.”

She's right. He knows how Neil reacted. Accepted it as fact and then squirreled it away like everything else. Inconsequential if it isn't directly related to his survival. Andrew stares at the video feeds. 

“Andrew,” Renee says after a moment.

Andrew glances at her.

“He was the only one who argued on your behalf,” she says. “And—he is still here.”

With those bright roots and pale eyes and that odd, desperate, idealistic streak. He's going to be the death of them all.

*

Dan emails them all one morning. The subject is “FUCK YEAH!” and the body is just a link to a news story which, when clicked, reveals itself to be a story in one of the few popular newspapers that isn't a Moriyama-funded enterprise.

Andrew skims the story. It features man-on-the-street interviews with people reacting to Kevin's video. Some of them call him an entitled prick, but others say they're proud of him for getting away, that they hope the Moriyama regime will launch a full investigation, that Riko is out of control.

Dan is happy about it. So is Kevin: he walks into their suite's kitchen that morning almost smiling, which for Kevin is about as close to smiling as he ever gets. 

“Morning,” he says.

Nicky is still in bed, so he doesn't get a response.

“Yeah, I knew I shouldn't have expected either of you to be happy about this.” 

He pours himself some of the coffee Aaron made and leaves, reappearing a few minutes later with a freshly-showered Neil.

“What?” Neil says.

“Haven't you checked your email?” Kevin says.

Andrew can't resist: “Neil doesn't have a computer or an email app on his phone.”

“You are so stupid,” Kevin says, looking around Neil as if Neil is hiding his phone behind his back. “How do you expect to stay in touch if you don't check your email?”

“Why would I have to stay in touch with the people I live with?” Neil says. “Are you going to tell me what you want, or can I go?”

Kevin steals Andrew's laptop to show Neil the email. Neil skims the story and is obviously pleased, because he makes that same almost-smile Kevin did. Andrew adds it to his mental list of reasons Neil is a monster and not like the rest of the Foxes at all.

“See?” he says. “I told you it'd work. If people still don't vote against Moriyama candidates, at least we're making Riko politically insupportable, right?” He turns around to look up at Kevin. “Do you think he'd turn on Ichirou?”

“Yes,” Kevin says. “With enough persuasion.”

“And you're willing to do that.”

“Yes,” Kevin says.

“Even though you think it's dangerous.”

“Yes,” Kevin says, because sometimes—rarely, but sometimes—he decides to be interesting enough for Andrew to pay attention. And then, because apparently he wants to use up his entire interesting quota for the year, he adds, “And I think you should be in the next video.”

For a moment, Neil doesn't react, at least not visibly, but then the expression from before disappears, his face shuttering. 

“I don't agree,” Neil says.

“Why not?” Kevin says. “Whatever you are hiding—the Moriyamas know you are with the Foxes. They do not think—”

“No,” Neil says.

“Yes,” Kevin says again. “This is not a suggestion, Neil. You agreed to help me, and you are the one who has been inspiring all of the Foxes. This was _your_ idea.”

“I'm not,” Neil says.

“See?” says Aaron, who has been half-ignoring this exchange while doing something on his computer. “I told you. He's willing to put everything on the line but himself.”

Neil ignores him. “Kevin, if someone recognizes me—”

“Like I said,” Kevin says impatiently, “if you were someone to recognize, they would have done it already. You are in their records as a listed nobody.”

Neil's eyes flick to the door. 

“I—” he says.

“You can choose,” Kevin says. “Either you take an active role, or you can go.”

“What?”

“You said it,” Kevin says. “You are part of a resistance group. Resist.”

“Kevin, I _can't_.”

“Then leave.”

Neil stares at Kevin for a moment longer. There's no way the other Foxes will agree, but Neil doesn't seem to care about the other Foxes just now. He looks around Kevin at Andrew, who stares impassively back, and then he says, “Fine,” and pushes past Kevin and out of the room.

“Jesus, dude,” Aaron says. “If he winds up dead in some ditch, you'll never hear the end of it.”

“He'll be back,” Kevin says.

But Andrew knows Neil. All his stuff fits into one duffle bag, but he holds onto the keys to Fox Tower like they're talismans instead of just keys. He feels safe here—or he did, until Kevin threatened to make him leave.

So Andrew follows Neil back to his room. He's not surprised at what he finds: Neil shoving things into a bag, his back to the door.

“We have a deal,” Andrew says.

“The deal's off,” Neil says. He doesn't turn around. “You heard him. It's lose-lose. If I go, Kevin doesn't have the balls to do anything, and I don't get to hold up my end. If I stay, I get killed because of the video, you don't get to hold up your end, and I end up dead. You'll understand why I'd prefer to just get out of here.”

“It's like I said,” Andrew says. “You are so stupid I can barely stand the sight of you.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Kevin can't kick you out. The other Foxes would never allow it. They would rather have you than him.”

“I don't care,” Neil says. “If Kevin doesn't want me here—”

“You would risk getting caught because of a crush.”

“It's not a crush,” Neil says. “And I wouldn't. That's why I'm going.”

Andrew hovers in the doorway, watching the tension shift in Neil's back.

“Stay,” Andrew says. 

Neil goes still. “What?”

“I told you I would have your back. Did you not believe me?”

“Andrew, you can't protect me from the entire world.”

“Do you think I lied?”

Neil turns at last, studies Andrew's face like he can see anything there other than Andrew's typical expression. Maybe he can, because he says, “No.”

“Then stay.”

“Okay,” Neil says.

*

Dan calls a meeting to talk about the story, and Neil isn't there.

That's the thing about liars, Andrew supposes, ignoring the questions about where Neil is and the accusations everyone levels at Kevin and the nagging nausea riding up his throat. Liars lie. He shouldn't be surprised.

*

Andrew has to rethink his anchor metaphor. Neil is more like a boomerang, or maybe herpes, because he shows up that night when Andrew is smoking on the roof during one of the movie nights Neil himself planned. Everyone downstairs has the movie on even though Andrew is sure none of them are paying attention, worried as they are about their pet project, the Integration and Adoption of Neil Josten.

“Hi,” Neil says.

“I told you to stay.”

“And here I am.”

“You left,” Andrew says quietly.

“I went for a run.”

“Liar.”

“I came back.”

Andrew doesn't say anything. He isn't sitting on the ledge tonight, just standing up next to it. He looks down and presses two fingers against the side of his neck. 

“If it helps, I didn't get that far,” Neil says. He reaches for Andrew's cigarette, and Andrew doesn't resist the theft. For once, Neil actually smokes it. “I got to the old PSU exy court and realized that you were right.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. He usually is right, but he doesn't have any idea what Neil is referring to.

“I don't have anything to lose,” Neil clarifies. “If I die, I die, but—” He turns, leans back on the ledge and looks at the door to the roof. “I'd rather die here than scared and alone in Pakistan or something.”

“You were running away to Pakistan.”

“I hadn't thought it through all the way.”

“Don't lie. I know you've thought up a thousand different places to hide.”

“My mum was from there. She taught me a little Urdu. I'd blend in.”

Andrew knows what Neil is trying to do—apologize without telling Andrew that he thinks Andrew wants an apology, which Andrew doesn't—but he doesn't understand why. Andrew steals his cigarette back.

“You wouldn't,” Andrew says. 

“I'd dye my hair and get new contacts,” Neil says. “It'd be—it wouldn't be easy, but I could disappear for a while. But that's my point. I don't want to disappear for a while. You were right. I mean, not completely—there's something to lose now, but I'd lose it if I left.”

“Your Foxes,” Andrew says.

“Yeah,” Neil says. He hasn't broken eye contact since he got here. Since Andrew stopped looking at the ground. “All of them.”

“Don't look at me like that.”

Neil looks away, almost smiling. No, actually smiling. It's a strange look on him. 

“Sure,” he says, like it's that easy. Andrew flicks the remains of his cigarette at him, and Neil's smile grows wider even as the ember singes the front of his shirt.

*

They make the video.

Neil needs a makeover beforehand, obviously—no one looks good with roots ten shades lighter than the rest of their hair, especially considering how long they've gotten—and gets it from Renee, who cuts and dyes her own hair all the time. 

He looks older and cleaner with short hair. Andrew doesn't miss his reluctance to look in the mirror after it's cut, though—Andrew will have to ask him about it later.

For the time being, he just watches Kevin and Neil film the video, watches Nicky and Matt cut it together, and watches Renee post it. 

Neil sits down next to him, stiff and silent, and doesn't say anything.

*

“Riko is pissed,” Allison says.

She's at Fox Tower again, and though her appearance always sets everyone edge because it makes no sense that no one bothers her when she comes to Palmetto, no one complains: she comes bearing alcohol. Cigarettes and food, too, but the alcohol is the biggest draw since they're running low and most of them can't stand each other sober.

“Like, really pissed,” she continues. “Not just the newest video, but the Seth one, all the shit with Ichirou—he's pissed.”

“Do you think it'd be better if we held off for a while before making any attacks? Waited for more instability between them?” Dan says.

“You have to be cautious,” Wymack says—video chat, the first he's done with them in a while. “You can't predict Riko's reactions. He's a wild card.”

It's true. Trying to use Riko as a weapon would be like trying to control a fire. 

“We have the violence vote tomorrow,” Dan says. “We're voting pro.”

“It's up to you,” Wymack says. “I'm just telling you to be careful.” 

“We're being careful,” Dan says.

“And keep everyone need-to-know if anything does end up happening,” Wymack adds. “Someone is leaking information. I'm not saying it's one of you, but someone's phone or one of your friends on the outside might be compromised.”

Nicky glances up at Aaron. He opens his mouth, but Aaron stares back at him, icy, daring him to suggest that Katelyn might be the leak. She probably isn't—Aaron is an idiot, but his trust is almost as hard to win as Andrew's. Maybe more.

“Just be vigilant,” Wymack says. “Keep an eye out. You're safe in Palmetto, but who knows for how long?” 

“We will,” Dan says. “That goes for you, too. Just because you're in Columbia, doesn't mean you're safe.”

“Let me know how the vote goes,” Wymack says, and hangs up.

“Are we all still for violence?” Dan says.

People nod; no one says anything in particular.

Andrew agrees. Violence is the only way to get people to listen to you. 

“Great,” Dan says. “Renee, Allison, maybe Kevin—can you stay put? The rest of you should go.”

“Need to know, huh,” Matt says, grinning. “You're going to keep the rest of us in the dark?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “I am.”

Matt's smile vanishes, but he doesn't argue, just pauses to kiss Dan's cheek as he follows Neil out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually this is where I say something obnoxious but I'm tired af so I'll just say hi I hope your week is going well
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com) | [main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com)). Please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo!


	8. Chapter 8

Later Andrew will think of Kengo's hospitalization as the beginning of the end.

Most days pass without a blip. That's why Andrew likes ice cream: the cold forces him to feel something in all the nothingness. The sweet, too, especially of chocolate, holding fast to the back of his tongue until it turns bitter. But still: something. When there is so much nothing.

But then Kengo gets hospitalized, and everything changes.

Slowly, first:

“You haven't been sleeping,” Kevin says. It's the afternoon after the news broke of Kengo being in the hospital. Renee thinks that means he's been there for a week at least, but Allison doesn't have the clearance to confirm.

“How would you know?”

“Because I have not been sleeping, either.”

He clearly wants Andrew to ask why. Andrew sets about shredding the candy wrappers in front of him. 

“It's Jean,” Kevin says. He holds out his phone. Andrew looks: it's a video of Jean at an event, limping behind Riko, heavily bruised. “We need to get him out of there before Riko kills him.”

“Since when do you care about anyone's survival other than your own?” Aaron says. “You're the one who left him.”

Kevin doesn't argue, just gazes at Andrew, intent.

“You cannot go anywhere near Castle Evermore,” Andrew says. 

“Neither can you or Neil,” Kevin says.

Andrew looks at the video again. It isn't surprising that Jean is suffering, but it is that Kevin cares.

“We need Renee and Allison,” Kevin says. 

“Jean killed her boyfriend,” Aaron says from the couch, where he's setting up some video game or other. “You really think—”

“No one is fucking talking to you,” Kevin snaps, which means he's serious, since he's usually more tolerant of Aaron's shit than anyone other than Nicky. “Go play your video games and be useless like you always are.” He redirects his attention to Andrew. “Renee is the least recognizable of us, and Allison has no issues getting in and out of Palmetto.”

“Maybe _she's_ the leak,” Aaron says loudly.

“You have gotten more and more insufferable, and if you were not Andrew's brother—”

“Careful,” Andrew warns. 

His deal with Kevin won't keep him safe if he provokes Aaron, and Kevin must know it, because he shuts up and just glares at Andrew.

“Jean is not my problem,” Andrew says. “If you want to make him yours, then do it, but I am not risking all of our lives just to save one Raven.”

Kevin takes it as what it is—permission—and disappears, leaving Andrew and Aaron alone together for the moment.

It's tense. It always is when it's just the two of them. Andrew watches Aaron avoid looking at him for as long as he can tolerate before leaving for a cigarette.

*

The list of things Andrew likes is not long. Those hot, humid South Carolina summers; his car, and how it looks, and how fast it can take him, and how he got the money to buy it; most sweets, but especially ice cream (he prefers complicated flavors without big, hard chunks—he prefers that they, like almost nothing else in his life, take the path of least resistance); drinking; sometimes Nicky; and smoking.

Smoking is the most recent—newer, even, than drinking, and deadlier, too. 

Still, he likes it. He likes the way it looks, the pull that makes the ember on the end glow red-orange and the thin stream of smoke he blows out, like the steam from a ship. He likes the smell of it, the way it lingers, a reminder that cigarette smoke is real and he is real, the way it puts people off so no one ever wants to stand too close to him. He likes the way it feels, too, scratching at the back of his throat, so obviously unhealthy that it's almost impossible to imagine that anyone ever thought it wasn't. 

Except it's not that impossible. People will delude themselves to death. Isn't that what all of this is?

Andrew exhales.

The thing of it—the reason he doesn't care about this revolution, or any of them—is that living under the Moriyama administration wasn't that bad.

Or at least—it wasn't worse. Not for him. The government, who is in power, that has never made a difference for people like him. If you aren't wealthy, the government doesn't care. If you don't have a family and you aren't wealthy, the government would rather you disappear than continue to make a dent in their profits.

Being listed is a death sentence, but at least before you die you serve a purpose. Andrew can see the appeal.

He sucks in some of the smoke, closes his eyes against the burn. 

He would've gone if it hadn't been for Aaron and Nicky. If he hadn't promised to protect Aaron. He would've died in Russia or something, or maybe he wouldn't have. Maybe he would've been such a good soldier that he would've risen in the ranks, ended up side by side with Riko. It's not unheard of for listed kids to end up in the Ravens. Rare, but not unheard of.

If Aaron hadn't been listed, if Nicky hadn't already been in hiding to take care of the two of them for a couple of years, Andrew would've left. 

Because an unlisted Aaron would never have cared about the revolution. He would've gone to med school, married the cheerleader, had a bunch of annoying blond children and been terrified about their eighteenth birthdays. Life for people like that, normal people, people whose names don't get pulled out of a hat or placed on a register when they or their parents piss off the wrong people, is just like it was before, mostly. Yes, it's dangerous to speak out against the government. Yes, everything is expensive and most people's salaries haven't risen. Yes, social and economic progress is stagnant. 

But the stakes have never been high enough for normal people to speak out against the government, and the rest of it has been a longtime coming. Normal people think the homeless are a blight on their perfect neighborhoods, so when trucks came to ship homeless people to basic training, normal people think it's a good thing. Normal people think society should do something with foster kids instead of letting them rot in the system, so maybe they think listing all of them is a good thing. Normal people like that the Moriyamas have cleaned up American energy, fully automated massive parts of American industry, and put the people whose jobs were lost by both into the military and let them die in the desert or the tundra.

Andrew holds the smoke in his lungs for as long as he can before releasing it. He feels a little dizzy, the combination of the height and the nicotine and his lack of oxygen intake and the weeks of poor sleep taking their toll. 

That's why it's impossible for him to care. For Andrew Minyard, the only thing that changed when the Moriyamas took power is that suddenly there was a chance of him having some sort of purpose. He didn't kid himself—dying for his country in a manufactured war was never going to be noble—but at least it was something. 

But then Aaron's name was on the list above his, so they all got in the car and drove to Palmetto. 

Andrew leans forward against the ledge. He's pretty sure that's Neil limping down the sidewalk, looking an awful lot like Jean in the video Kevin showed him earlier. Andrew wants to sigh: whatever he says, Neil wears a death wish around his neck like a totem.

By the time Andrew has made it downstairs, Neil is already on their floor. Kevin, somewhat understandably, is pissed.

“How are we supposed to protect ourselves if something happens when you are hurt?” Kevin is saying. “You are supposed to—”

“I'm fine,” Neil says, even though half the skin on his face looks like someone tried to grate it against asphalt and he can't stand up straight.

“Do not lie about your health,” Kevin says. He turns to Andrew. “Tell him not to lie about his health.”

“He is your shadow,” Andrew says. “Tell him yourself.”

“ _How_ do you not understand how important this is, Neil? You are the one who told _me_ to actually try, but if you get yourself killed—”

“You're right,” Neil says. “I won't do it again.”

“So what happened, then?”

Other than the scrape, there's a bruise forming on the underside of his jaw. He's cradling one arm. 

“I got hit by a car.”

“You got hit by a _car_ ,” Kevin says. “Was it—”

“It wasn't Moriyamas,” Neil says. “It's just dark out. Random accident.

“But was it—”

“I said _no_.”

Andrew glances up between them, but Kevin doesn't elaborate, and Neil isn't looking at him.

“What was a car doing in Palmetto?” Kevin says.

“Just driving through. It's still the best way to get to Georgia even if the roads here suck.”

“Did they try to get any information from you?”

“I told them my insurance would cover it,” Neil says.

“Did they get a good look at your face?”

“No,” Neil says. “They probably didn't even realize they were in Palmetto. It's not exactly a landmark.”

Kevin sighs. “How badly hurt are you?”

“Not very. I'm—it's fine. Seriously. Nothing some Neosporin and an ice pack won't fix. Ankle might be sprained.”

“Good,” Kevin says. He looks at Andrew. “That's good, right?”

Andrew shrugs.

“I'm getting Aaron,” Kevin says. “He's been on his phone all day, I swear, if he is not messaging her through something encrypted end-to-end, I'll—”

“You'll what?” Andrew says casually.

Kevin stares at him for a moment, eyes bugging out a little. “You have been no help,” he says, and finally leaves.

No, Andrew thinks. Just kept him alive all this time. 

He walks up to Neil, who is leaning heavily against the doorframe.

“You keep making my job harder than it needs to be,” Andrew says, reaching for the bruised spot on Neil's jaw.

“Do I?” Neil says, letting Andrew examine him.

“We have a deal.”

“You can't control every car in South Carolina, and I'm not Kevin. I don't need you with me every second.”

Andrew wonders how someone so willing to admit to Andrew how desperate he is for a home can also try so hard to get himself killed.

“You're lying.” 

It's nothing new—Neil's entire sad little origin story might have been a lie. 

“What?”

“It was not a random accident.”

“Of course it was.”

“I do not believe in coincidences.”

Neil's hair looks almost orange in the old fluorescent light leaking in from the hallway. He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, and there is an odd pinch in Andrew's chest because—stupidly—he thinks this is going to be something real.

“Well, this was one,” Neil says.

That feeling in Andrew's chest tightens, less a pinch and more like something is wringing him like a sponge.

“If someone wanted to kill you, why aren't you dead?” Andrew says.

Because Neil has that look he used to get, before he made Kevin and the Foxes his personal project, before Andrew's detox and sobriety became something he cared about, like he's less the fox and more the rabbit, like if he could've made it farther away than Fox Tower, he would have. The same look he had the other day, when he disappeared for hours and came back saying he didn't get farther than the Foxhole Court.

“I don't know,” Neil says, and that, at least, Andrew believes.

*

Coincidentally—or perhaps not—the video with Neil in it has polls surging in favor of the resistance. There's just something about him. Some quality that makes people want to follow him and listen to him, even when he looks like a surly teenager, even when he's just saying the same types of things he says to the Foxes all the time.

Neil doesn't seem to notice. He's distracted all through the meeting, glancing at his phone like he's waiting to hear back from a doctor about a pregnancy test. But when Andrew glares at him, Neil just looks back, steady, like there isn't anything wrong. 

Even his mannerisms are lies. Andrew separates from the rest of the Foxes as soon as he can and escapes to the room he and Renee use to spar.

*

“Everything is kind of on hold until we find out whether or not Kengo's going to live,” Allison tells them at a meeting three days later. “Things might slip under the radar, especially if he dies. I think if you're planning something—”

“We aren't—” Dan says.

“If you're planning something,” Allison says, ignoring her, “it might be best to hold off until he dies. That's the time most eyes will be on the Moriyamas. If you don't hop on your momentum immediately, you'll lose it—people love feeling bad for kids whose dad just died.”

“This is the perfect time to get Jean, then,” Kevin says. 

It's an idea he's brought up the past three meetings in a row, and no one has cared much for it, but now Allison looks at him, frowning.

“Yes,” she says. “If we're going to get him, it's best to do it now.”

“If Kengo dies while Jean is still with Riko, he will kill him,” Kevin says. “No one can control him. No one ever has.”

Andrew presses a finger against the bruising on his shoulder. He's covered in them, all in various stages of healing courtesy of three days' extra sparring with Renee. Somehow it doesn't work as well as it used to. 

“Anyone who isn't need-to-know on the Jean mission, clear out,” Dan says. “Renee, Allison, Matt, Kevin—I'll open up a line with Britt. The rest of you—”

“Andrew is need-to-know,” Kevin says.

“You're not going, so he's not,” Dan says. “Andrew, I'm sorry, but—”

Andrew raises a hand: he has no interest in hearing them plan yet another suicide mission. He stands.

“Wait,” Dan says. “Allison, block your ears.”

Allison obediently covers them. No word on how effective hands are at blocking sound.

“Allison's right. We should push our first wave of attacks until Kengo's death and the funeral. All of you know which mission you're on. Make sure not to tell anyone else, okay? Even if you're sure you can trust them. Even if you're siblings.” 

She's looking pointedly at Andrew, but Andrew already knows that Dan would only trust him with the other monsters. Whether she counts Neil in his group or hers remains to be seen.

“Movie night tonight,” Dan adds, tapping Allison's wrist lightly so that Allison uncovers her ears. “Two hours from now. Meet in the upstairs lounge. There's alcohol and Allison brought pizza. Out.”

Andrew doesn't need to be told again. He hightails it to the roof and sits on the ledge, letting his legs dangle and his pulse accelerate. 

Cigarettes really are comforting. They shouldn't be. It's a bad habit, one Betsy would probably be after him to get rid of if he weren't currently in an underground resistance group.

Speaking of which: if it's so dangerous to leave Palmetto, surely soon it'll be dangerous to leave Fox Tower, and after that, dangerous to come up here. Andrew doesn't intend to ever listen to a rule like that even if Dan tries to enforce it. 

He finishes the first cigarette and tosses it off the ledge. He imagines a little pile of his cigarette butts there, his DNA and fingerprints all over them.

Ah, well. It's not like Riko doesn't know exactly where Kevin is anyway. Andrew lights another cigarette.

“Hey.”

Andrew doesn't need to turn around to know who it is: Neil, who is supposed to be elevating his ankle, instead hobbled up here. He leans back against the ledge, facing the opposite direction, head tilted up toward the sky.

He has a black eye. It matches Andrew's. He seems to have the same thought in the same moment, because his eyes flick to Andrew's left one and linger for a moment.

“I have a question for you,” Neil says.

He's remarkably stupid, Andrew thinks. Desperate to die, or at least to suffer from some permanently disfiguring injury. 

The bruise on Neil's jaw is an ugly yellow now, but it's fading quickly. The scrape is another story—the scabbing looks like some awful skin condition. He's just standing there, perfectly still, like the water around a riptide.

“You killed Aaron's mother,” Neil says. “But Nicky is wrong about why, isn't he? You did it for Aaron? Because she was hitting him?”

Andrew taps the ash of his cigarette. That's the thing about Neil, isn't it, the thing Andrew can sometimes feel tugging at a break in his skin and crawling underneath it to nestle with everything else he keeps buried. Neil is a liar by habit but painfully honest by nature, prone to telling this kind of sticky truth and asking these kinds of sticky questions even if he knows the consequences will be awkward and ugly.

His actions rarely surprise Andrew—Neil is unpredictable the way prey desperate to escape a predator is unpredictable, which is to say, if you have a level of intellect anywhere above that of a fox, not unpredictable at all—but his questions sometimes do, those hard truths that he says like they're nothing.

The way he's leaning back, he has to look up see Andrew's face. Andrew isn't used to seeing Neil from this angle, from above. He isn't smiling. His expression is perfectly neutral, pale eyes meeting Andrew's as if to affirm that this, finally, is true, even if nothing else out of his mouth is, not even his name.

“I made a promise to him,” Andrew says. “I kept it.”

“You're still keeping it,” Neil says. “And the conditions included not getting close to anyone else. Just family. That's why you hate that he's always texting Katelyn.”

“He doesn't hold up his end,” Andrew says. “Doesn't mean I don't hold up mine.”

Neil takes a cigarette from the pack next to Andrew's hip and plucks the lighter from Andrew's slack grip.

“So that's why,” Neil says. “You two are keeping us from being effective because of some deal you made.”

That fucking one track mind. Andrew looks away, irritated. 

“Why do you keep giving treadmills such dirty looks?” Andrew says.

“Why do you think?”

“That is not how this works.”

“I didn't realize there were rules to this,” Neil says. “Do you have a handbook you can loan me?”

Andrew looks back at him. Neil is almost smiling now, the arrogance of it insufferable. It transforms his face. With the injuries, it'd be intimidating if Andrew were capable of being intimidated.

“I don't like treadmills because I don't like the idea of running in one place.”

“Or staying in one place.”

Neil doesn't say anything for a while, just leans back against the ledge and smokes the cigarette.

“I used to think so,” he says. “I don't mind it so much anymore.”

“You tried to run away a few weeks ago.” Andrew doesn't know which of them he's trying to remind.

“That was different.”

Was it?

“I have another question,” Andrew says, stifling a yawn.

“What happened to 'that is not how this works'?”

“You can ask me two next time.”

“Okay,” Neil says. It's an easy concession, but then, most things are from Neil. Even getting him to stay here didn't take much. “Shoot.”

“Why are you afraid of Wymack?” Andrew says.

“What?” Neil says. “I'm not.”

“Wymack-sized people, then.”

“Oh.” Neil fiddles with the bottom of his t-shirt, uncharacteristic for him. “My father isn't great.”

“You mean wasn't,” Andrew says.

“Yeah.” Neil's entire hand slips into the front of his shirt, like he's checking to see if something is still there. “I—he liked knives.”

Andrew tucks a finger beneath one of his wristbands, feeling for his own knives and pressing against the point of his pulse. He remembers that day—months ago—when Neil threw knives at a bullseye out of sheer frustration despite an injury. It was odd then, the combination of his distaste for knives and skill with them, but it makes more sense now. A lot of Neil is like that, jigsaws with missing pieces that he gives Andrew like this.

“And he hit us. Me and my mom.”

“And he's dead,” Andrew says. “No reason to fear a dead man.”

Neil stares down at the cigarette in his hand. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Neil.” 

Neil looks up. Andrew can't place the emotion he sees there, and he bends closer, like if he gets right up in Neil's face he'll understand it better. 

He doesn't, and Neil says—quietly, his breath smelling like Andrew's cigarettes—“What if he came back?”

“Your father is not a zombie, Neil,” Andrew says, because running with the lie seems easier than trying to get the truth out of Neil right now. “Besides. I said I'd keep you alive, didn't I?”

Neil tilts his chin up, a challenge. “I don't know how effective you'd be against zombies.”

“Do you believe me?”

“I've told you I do.”

“Then stop being scared,” Andrew says. His arms hurt from the position he's in, and he's too tired to continue this conversation, so he turns around and slides off the ledge. “We have work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was one of those chapters where you can kind of tell this wasn't meant to be a chaptered fic, but i broke it into two parts so hopefully that helps. chapter 8 part 2 should be posted pretty soon since i only have a little of it left to write ~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> come find me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com) | [main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com)). please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo!


	9. Chapter 9

The violence vote is mostly a formality at this point since half the resistance groups in the country have already started planning.

Still: the Trojans vote against, because people who aren't in the thick will never understand why violence is essential.

Others vote against, too, but not enough. The remaining Wildcats vote for. The Nittany Lions vote for. The Foxes vote for. 

“It's good,” Dan tells them all. “We can keep making our videos, but this means we can also move forward with our plans for South Carolina. You all know what you're responsible for doing prep for. Remember not to tell anyone who isn't directly involved in your attack, even if you'd trust them with your life. You never know who's listening.”

Andrew is meant to be doing recon in Columbia in a couple of weeks. He's going to check out the prison, where they keep actual criminals, list-dodgers, and enemies of the state. They already have blueprints—he's going to be there to figure out what their security guard situation is. 

The Foxes are scheduled to raid the prison during Kengo's funeral. Andrew will be on watch that night, too. It's a mission he didn't ask for, and it requires him to leave Kevin here while he is in Columbia, but it's been so long since he got out of Fox Tower that Andrew can't be that upset. Besides, he thinks, looking at where Neil and Kevin are discussing something in low, rapid French, Kevin is in good hands. And if Neil leaves Kevin here and runs, Andrew won't rest until he finds him and kills him.

*

No one gets that the reason Andrew and Renee get along so well is that they aren't very different. No one can tell, because Renee is so frequently in her makeshift chapel or smiling at everyone like she isn't the best shot in the resistance.

This afternoon, though, the resemblance is obvious. She is so heavily armed that a weaker person would have found it difficult to walk. On her, it looks natural, even under a big coat. She takes a few steps and scrutinizes herself in the mirror.

“You look normal,” Andrew says.

She turns to him. Renee has always been the Fox least likely to leave Fox Tower for any reason, and she obviously hasn't gotten over that hangup, because she has sunglasses and a baseball cap on.

“You will not be recognized,” Andrew says. “And you will be with Allison.”

“Since when do you trust Allison?”

“You trust her,” Andrew says, watching Renee take the coat off and methodically and carefully disarm. 

“Yes,” Renee says, hoisting her bag of guns over her shoulder and smiling at Andrew. “I will see you tonight.”

He doesn't wish her luck, only nods and goes to watch Kathy Ferdinand.

*

Sometimes Kevin talks about his old life with this odd combination of disdain and wistfulness.

Today, when Riko and Ichirou are set to make a damage control guest appearance on a talkshow hosted by a woman called Kathy Ferdinand, is one of those times.

“She's the best at what she does,” Kevin says, squeezing between Neil and Andrew on the couch and turning on the TV. “No one can get as much out of an interview as she can.”

“Missing it?” Neil says. 

But Kevin doesn't look like he's missing anything. He's rigid, both hands clenched into fists in his lap, knuckles white.

“No,” Kevin says.

Andrew pays less attention to the TV than he does to Kevin's deteriorating hold on his sanity, and less attention to both than he does to his phone. Renee is supposed to call Dan the second she has Jean, but she's supposed to call Andrew the second anything goes wrong. It's lucky that Kathy Ferdinand tapes in Raleigh, lucky that Raleigh is a three and a half hour drive away, and lucky that Riko doesn't go anywhere without his pet Raven.

So he's watching his phone when Riko comes on stage, and looks at Kevin just in time to see Kevin's hand snap over Neil's wrist. Andrew excepts Neil to react somehow, but he just sits there, eyes trained on the TV. 

Andrew follows his gaze. Riko is made up to look clean and foreboding, black suit, black shirt, red tie. Ichirou doesn't need the foreboding suit to look powerful, and he's in blue with a flag pin on his lapel, smiling at Kathy like they're old friends. 

The interview is meant to be a full hour long and has been marketed as the reunion of the children of the administration. Despite their smiles and positions on the couch, it couldn't be clearer that Riko and Ichirou barely know each other. They don't touch, don't even look at each other, don't talk over each other the way siblings do, just respond to the questions Kathy gives them.

Their answers are delivered flawlessly, media-training fingerprints all over them. Ichirou is better at it than Riko—which makes sense, since Ichirou has been groomed to be a politician for years and Riko is a soldier—but it seems obvious to Andrew that it's all bullshit.

Except that the crowd is eating it up. Kathy is one of those interviewers known for “gotcha” questions, but the ones she gives Riko and Ichirou are all softballs: 

“There are rumors that you two don't get along,” she says at one point. “Can you clear that up for our audience?”

Riko gives a brittle smile, but Ichirou swings an arm over his brother's shoulder as if it's a normal and typical thing for them to do. 

“Come on, Kathy, you know that isn't true,” Ichirou says. “We do not get to see each other often, but when we do, the reunion is always happy. Of course, lately we do not find many happy occasions to meet.” He hugs Riko to him, and Riko is doing an awful job at pretending he's ever been happy to see Ichirou. Kevin is squeezing Neil's arm so tightly that Andrew wouldn't be surprised to see Neil's hand turn blue. “Our father is very ill, which of course breaks both of our hearts.”

“Nevertheless,” Riko says, “work is more important than our hearts, wouldn't you say? We still have battles to fight. Russians do not stop attacking our soldiers just because the president is sick.”

“Now, that's something else I wanted to ask you about,” Kathy says, a smooth interception that prevents Ichirou from having to fight. Andrew wonders if Ichirou paid her off or if she's just loyal to the main family. “Russia. People are saying the war has gone on long enough, and that we've lost too many good American lives. How close are we to peace?”

Andrew's phone vibrates. It's a text from Renee, but when he opens it, all it says is “got him.” Andrew looks back at the TV as if Renee, Jean, and Allison will just be crossing the stage in front of everyone, but there is no commotion evident. Not that they would see it—nothing is ever really live, and a few seconds' tape delay would be enough for a blackout.

Kevin doesn't know about the Jean extraction. He knows that it's happening, but doesn't know when. Andrew only knows because he's on guard duty tonight and will be downstairs with Dan when Allison and Renee come back. Andrew is pretty sure Dan would've preferred anyone else, but Andrew is the steadiest shot now that he's sober. Kevin is the best, but definitely not trustworthy tonight. 

Andrew gets off the couch, and Kevin's head immediately pivots.

“Where are you going?” 

“I'm on watch tonight,” Andrew says. “Don't worry. I'm sure Neil will not sell you out.”

He's kind of joking, but Kevin turns to look at Neil like Neil really might betray him.

“If you don't let go of my arm, maybe,” Neil says. He's tapping something on his phone with his free hand that Kevin looks at suspiciously. “Just notes for the video we're posting tonight. I think we should make a couple of edits—anyone know where Renee is?”

“Make the edits with Nicky and send Renee the updated version,” Andrew says, and takes Neil's glance toward Nicky's door as an opportunity to leave.

He takes the stairs for once, stiff and tired from sitting on the couch for so long. He's glad he doesn't have to watch the end of that awful interview, and it seems like Neil has Kevin under control. He has to trust that one of them will text him to come back upstairs if they need him to. 

He hears Matt and Dan's voices drifting out of the room with the monitors in it before he even gets close to the door.

“What if we don't know what the fuck we're doing?” Dan is saying.

“No one ever does, right? Fake it til you make it?” Matt. 

“That works for, like, job interviews. If I fake it, all of us could get killed.”

“That's why we're doing it in steps,” Matt says. “Slowly. Not all at once. Kengo dies, and we hit one or two places. The funeral, we get a few more. And we're not in it alone, right?”

“Britt's with Allison and Renee,” Dan says. “I mean, not anymore, obviously, but she met them in Raleigh to help get Jean out of there. And it's not like Britt gives a shit about Jean's life, right? If it weren't another way to piss off Riko—”

Andrew doesn't want to eavesdrop, mostly because he doesn't care to. He walks into the room.

“I'm off,” Matt says, squeezing Dan's wrist. “Have fun.” 

He winks at Andrew as he passes, one of his many shallow attempt at friendliness in recent weeks. Andrew suspects Neil is behind it.

Dan betrays no such warmth, false or otherwise. She just looks at Andrew for a while, mouth stiff. 

“Do you think this is a good plan?” she says.

Andrew considers it, mostly because Dan has never asked his opinion before. He wonder's what's changed, except—it's the same as with Matt, isn't it. Neil Josten.

“I think we are out of options for good plans,” Andrew says, which is honest.

“Right,” Dan says, turning back to a monitor and taking out her phone, presumably to text Matt.

Andrew wonders at that. Matt isn't need-to-know on Jean, and yet here he is, knowing. He knew about Eden's Twilight both times, too. Unlike the rest of them, he actually has a relationship with his parents. Maybe reuniting with them would be incentive enough to betray the Foxes.

It seems unlikely. All of them seem unlikely, all except for Allison. Andrew supposes that if everything goes to plan tonight, they won't have any reason to doubt her anymore.

It's a tense night. It takes Renee and Allison what seems like forever to finally get there, and then unloading Jean is its own ordeal, Matt dragging a sleepy Neil down the stairs with him. Dan watches them on her monitor, tense, gun in her lap.

But it's fine. Jean is slumped over, barely capable of walking. It was probably Riko's doing, but it's good for them, because he can't put up much of a fight like this. Neil and Matt half-carry him into the building. Dan switches her display to the front hall when they open the door.

Jean collapses on the floor the second he gets inside. No one looks too concerned, so he probably isn't dead. Neil and Matt help him up again, make for the elevator. Dan switches her display again.

They're bringing Jean to rooms Andrew is intimately familiar with, the ones on the rarely-used top floor. There aren't cameras in the bedrooms, so once they enter one of them, there is nothing left for Dan and Andrew to watch. 

Dan relaxes against her chair.

“That's it?” she says. “That seemed too easy, didn't it?”

“Do you want it to have been harder?”

“Matt is coming down here,” Dan says instead of answering. “You can go to bed now. Thanks for taking on the extra shift.”

Andrew doesn't want to admit why he did. He knows Dan asked Neil to ask him to, and Andrew doesn't like denying him things, and Dan used it against him, which is exactly why this entire Neil situation has gone too far. 

Instead, he says, “It's never good to rely on your partner to make the smart choice in a fight.”

“I know,” Dan says. “That's why I didn't want him here. Just in case. I wouldn't have paired you with Neil, either.”

“Neil is not my partner.”

“Dammit,” Dan says. “I wanted to settle a bet.” 

“The Neil and Andrew bet?” 

They both turn; it's Matt, still looking half-asleep, two coffees in hand. Andrew didn't notice him leave the upstairs hallway.

“Jean is upstairs. I can watch the screens if you want to go talk to him, but he's locked up without weapons and he doesn't look like he wants to move, like ever again.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Dan says. “I'll be back soon. Don't fall asleep.”

They get in the elevator together, but Andrew hits the button for his own floor. Dan doesn't look surprised that he isn't interested in seeing Jean, just stands there in silence until he gets off. 

Dan is right. Andrew wants to go to bed. But it's not quiet when he gets to his suite: Aaron and Nicky are in the living room sharing a bottle of something.

“Jean's here,” Nicky says. Aaron doesn't say anything, just drinks more. “Got here a little while ago. Neil woke Kevin up, which obviously woke us up. Kevin and Neil are upstairs with him. Convincing him not to kill us all, I guess.”

“This is so fucking stupid,” Aaron says. “I don't see why the rest of us didn't get a vote. Adding another fucking Raven—”

Andrew ignores him and walks into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. They're safe, and Kevin is with Neil. He decides to allow himself one cigarette, the last in his pack before he has to venture downstairs for the cartons, and then try to sleep. They'll wake him up when they eventually come to bed, but maybe he can get a couple of hours uninterrupted—

He's only a few minutes into smoking when someone knocks.

“Yeah,” Andrew calls.

It's Neil, looking a little tired but fully awake in the light from the lamp Kevin left on. He comes all the way over to the window, steals Andrew's pack of cigarettes and shakes it out. He doesn't look disappointed that there aren't any left, and he doesn't reach for the one in Andrew's hand.

“So,” he says. “Another Raven.”

Another Raven. Andrew stubs his cigarette out and tosses it out the window. He imagines that little pile of them all outside the building again, just waiting to poison a squirrel or something.

“He cannot stay here,” Andrew says, wondering whether or not Neil will argue.

“Where is he going to go?”

“I don't care. But if he stays, Riko will come for all of us. The target is too big. And between the two of them, Kevin and Jean have the willpower of a fruit fly.”

Neil's eyebrow quirks. “I thought you didn't like metaphors.”

Andrew knew that B+ in English on Neil's transcript was a lie. “That was not a metaphor.”

“I never paid that much attention in school.”

“Too distracted by what classroom you were going to break into to sleep that night?”

Neil doesn't look ashamed or proud or anything. He just looks at Andrew with that same arched eyebrow. “Something like that, yeah.”

Andrew wonders what Neil wants. He is acutely aware of how small the bedroom is, the bunks and this window and not much else. Neil takes up more space than you'd expect considering how small he is. Maybe it's been too long since Andrew got out of Palmetto.

Neil steps closer. He is almost inside Andrew's personal bubble, close enough that Andrew could get around him but could also touch if he wanted to. And, he realizes—no, not realizes, acknowledges; he's known for months—he does want to. 

Neil doesn't say anything for once, just looks at Andrew and waits, like it's a test. But it can't be. Neil said himself that he doesn't swing, and Neil might be a liar, but Andrew has to take that at face value.

Neil moves a little closer. If it weren't for the tight leash Andrew keeps around his control, if Andrew didn't know better—

“There you two are.”

Andrew looks over Neil's shoulder, but Neil doesn't turn to look at Kevin, just lets out a big breath in a single huff.

“Jean will not talk to me,” Kevin says. “Renee says I should give him some time, but—”

“We don't have time,” Neil says, taking a step back. “Right.”

“I'm going to talk to Jeremy about moving Jean to L.A. as soon as possible,” Kevin says. “We might get some footage of him for a video, right? But he can't stay here. It is not safe.”

“Especially not if we start attacking places, yeah,” Neil says.

Kevin is frowning at the back of Neil's head. “Are you feeling better?”

“What?”

“From your car accident.”

Neil half turns around. “I'm fine.”

“I told you—”

“No, I am,” Neil says. “All better thanks to our gifted EMT.”

“Are you sure?”

“I told you I wouldn't lie about my health anymore,” Neil says.

“Okay,” Kevin says. There's a brief, awkward silence, and then he adds, “Dan wants you in a meeting at five, Neil,” and finally leaves.

Neil turns back to Andrew, expression wry. “Sometimes I really can't stand him.”

“Only sometimes?” Andrew says, barely stifling a yawn.

“You look exhausted.”

“No shit.”

“I thought it was just because you were sober, but it's not, is it? You've looked like this for weeks.”

Andrew doesn't say anything. This is not the direction he was expecting this conversation to take.

“I'm taking a turn,” Neil says. “Why haven't you been sleeping?”

Andrew hates him. “The noise.”

He also hates how much it looks like Neil understands that. But Neil only has one roommate, and Andrew has three he couldn't get rid of even if he wanted to.

“Go to sleep,” Neil says. “I'll keep people out of here.”

“I do not need your help.”

“No one said you needed anything.” 

He smiles a little. For someone who probably never had braces, Neil has nice teeth, Andrew thinks, and then abruptly blinks at how tired he is. 

“I'll see you in the morning,” Neil says. “Goodnight.” 

He leaves, but Andrew takes his time brushing his teeth out of spite.

*

Kengo dies, and Fox Tower erupts.

It's like everyone was expecting the world to collapse, and it doesn't. For a full day, everyone panics. The Nittany Lions stage a prison breakout and then blow up the empty building. The Wildcats throw a party, and somehow no more of them wind up dead. The Minutemen rally half of Massachusetts in an impromptu demonstration. 

But in South Carolina, nothing happens except for some fireworks going off in Charleston and a party at Fox Tower.

Andrew escapes with a bottle of whiskey. It's almost dark out, and Neil was busy enough at the party that he almost expects to be left alone for once.

He isn't. Neil comes up to the roof only a couple of minutes after Andrew, climbs onto the ledge next to him, and shifts so that he's only a few inches away. 

“Hey,” Neil says. “Missed you at the party.”

“You don't seem the type to enjoy parties anyway,” Andrew says.

Andrew thinks again: it would be so easy. One push, and the Neil problem is solved.

But Neil is looking at him and frowning a little. The early April setting sun casts an odd shadow over half his face, so that one eye gleams in the light and the other disappears into darkness, and Neil is wearing the same expression he gets when he's trying to get Kevin to do something Kevin doesn't want to do. 

“Not when you aren't there, no,” Neil says, and leans toward him.

There's a tug in Andrew's gut, feels like dropping, one of those amusement park rides he's never been on, helplessness. He slips his leash and kisses Neil.

Neil kisses back, a split second's rigid surprise melting into soft reciprocation. Andrew doesn't think, just lets himself, for once, feel.

It's movement from Neil that knocks Andrew out of his reverie. Andrew stiffens, pulls away just enough that he can see Neil's entire face. It's wide open again, that look he always gets, desperate and sad and _hungry_ , like he's terrified of having everything he wants but determined to get it anyway. Andrew doesn't know how everyone doesn't see right through him. Calls himself a liar but can't control his facial muscles for shit.

“Tell me no,” Andrew says.

Neil's moment of hesitation stretches between them, infinite. Andrew doesn't regret, but if he did, he'd regret this, a split second of weakness, letting Neil's stupid mouth turn into Neil's stupid _mouth_ , fuck, it's not like he isn't well-educated on the importance of getting consent—

“What if I don't want to tell you no?”

“Not saying no isn't yes,” Andrew says, willing him to leave.

“I'm saying yes.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“It's not a bad idea,” Neil says. 

“Everything about you is a bad idea.”

“Maybe,” Neil says. “Maybe every choice I've made this year has been a bad idea. But if you didn't drag me to Eden's Twilight that day, Kevin would be back with the Ravens and we'd all be dead.” Neil hasn't moved back at all, is still bent toward Andrew like a wilted flower, half-smiling. “Besides. Kengo Moriyama is dead. Might as well celebrate, right?” 

Fuck it. Andrew kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine getting cock blocked by kevin day lmao
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo!
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com). You can send me prompts and stuff if u wanna


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if mental health crises are an issue for you, this chapter might be rough. It's not SUPER bad (no sui ideation or anything) but not super fun either. hit me up on [tumblr](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com/ask) for more deets

For once, Andrew has the normal, racing-thoughts kind of insomnia.

He can't get over the idea that he has just done something so stupid and self-destructive that there really is no coming back from it this time. The last time he did something like this, got attached, he barely made it out alive. The scars crisscrossing his arms, the liver damage from those pills, his relationship with Aaron, how much that young stupid part of him still wants to see Cass, all prove that. 

It's nothing. He is supposed to want nothing, feel nothing, _be_ nothing. It was stupid to get involved with the resistance and even more stupid to get involved with one of the Foxes' chief orchestrators. He shouldn't even share cigarettes with Neil, let alone kiss him. 

To want Neil is so stupid that Andrew is half-surprised he still has the capacity for it. He thought he carved out that awful self-destructive part of himself already. Or no, not carved out—just locked up and tried to suffocate with happy pills. Because that's the thing about Neil, isn't it? He's not reliable. He's not trustworthy. He's quicksilver, fool's gold, poisonous and liable to disappear at any moment. He's the opposite of the solid foundation Andrew is supposed to be building out of his mental health and close relationships. He is a rapid-filled river, and Andrew is supposed to be on dry land. 

Still. Andrew can't get Neil out of his head, Neil's mouth, Neil's tongue, that feeling that if either of them shifted too far in one direction they'd both slide right off the ledge.

*

There is a march the next morning demanding a vote for Kengo's successor.

It isn't resistance. It's normal people. Around three million total at organized marches all over the country. Around a full percent of the population of the United States.

No injuries. No deaths. 

The administration—what's left of it—bills it as democracy at work.

No word on whether or not there will be a vote.

*

The drive to Columbia to check out the prison is a welcome relief from Fox Tower, which feels smaller than ever, especially since Andrew is shamelessly and blatantly avoiding Neil. Andrew scans the perimeter, makes note of the guards and the cameras, and squints through his sunglasses at the entrance to figure out the likelihood of his being able to get in and out with any issues.

In the end, he gets in because he asks to use a restroom and because he's wearing a suit and sunglasses and driving a ridiculously nice car with a fake license plate number on it. He takes in the cop at the front, the sealed windows in the men's room, and the cleaning times for the bathroom on the back of the door.

It's odd like it always is to be in Columbia. Palmetto is a post-apocalyptic hell scape, not a single CVS to speak of, but Columbia is the same semi-urban enclave it's always been. The open secret of its shelter status is just that—an open secret. 

There are still open Wal-Marts, people shopping in them, faces carefully blank. Everyone is in black—the president has died, and no one wants to appear disloyal—but they're still going to Wal-Mart. Normalcy is a comfortable blanket to hide beneath. Andrew would know. 

He gets back in his car and drives to Betsy's. 

She has cocoa ready, two giant steaming mugs of it, and she offers Andrew a hug that he turns down. 

“It's been a while since we met in person,” she says. “The last time we spoke, you told me you'd finally gotten some sleep.”

“Neil made me,” Andrew says. 

He sets his mug down and walks around her office. Betsy's office is always very particular, glass figurines arranged in neat little grids. This one is much more elaborately decorated than the smaller version in Fox Tower, but Andrew still knows the order of the figurines by heart. Alphabetical by scientific name. A mallard right at the front—Anas platyrynchos. An ugly Canada goose a few down, Branta canadensis.

“That's what you told me. Do you want to talk more about Neil making you do things?”

“He doesn't make me do things.”

“You just said that he did.”

“It isn't—” He looks away, frustrated, picking up one of the glass figurines. “It is just physical. He is good-looking, and it's been a while since I—we are stuck there. Just us. My only options are him, Kevin, and Matt, and Matt is taken and Kevin isn't my type.”

“I don't believe that,” Betsy says.

“I don't lie.” 

He is staring at the figurine in his hands. It's a bird, a fat-bellied American robin, Turdus migratorius, and he can't help thinking how fragile it is, light and airy and incorporeal, a bit like Neil himself. Andrew has never let go of anything without leaving claw marks in it, or maybe without it leaving claw marks in him, and this thing is fragile. Neil is fragile. _Andrew_ is fragile.

“You aren't going to break it,” Betsy says. 

“There is nothing to break.”

“You don't believe that.”

“If there were something to break, I would have broken it already,” Andrew says. 

Because his relationship with his brother is a fractured mess, not that he cares—Aaron isn't worth the effort. Kevin is too much of a husk of a person already for Andrew to have caused it, but Nicky could've had a nice life if it weren't for Andrew and Aaron keeping him here, and Nicky barely feels safe alone with Andrew. The one relationship that could've been something fell apart when he met Aaron, but maybe it was broken anyway because she turned a blind eye to everything with her son, and now her son is dead so even if he gets out of here—

“Andrew, you do not break things,” Betsy says.

Andrew drops the bird deliberately on the linoleum floor, watches as it shatters, little shards of glass flying every which way. It's a temper tantrum, and they both know it, which is why Betsy doesn't react until Andrew has sat down, defeated.

“Are you finished?” she says.

“I broke it,” Andrew says. 

“Andrew, that bird is not a metaphor for your relationship with Neil no matter how much you want to turn it into one.”

“I don't want—”

“Let me finish. Neil gets a choice, doesn't he?”

“I know that.”

“Not just the choice to say no,” Betsy says. “He gets to decide if he wants to try, too.”

Andrew leaves after that. He wants a drink. Actually, he wants his pills, the blissful unfeeling of them, hysteria bubbling up to replace anything more caustic than the need to sneeze. 

But he doesn't have a prescription, so instead he goes to Eden's Twilight.

Roland is pleased to see him, especially when Andrew accepts Roland's offer to go to the closet in the back of the Eden's Twilight kitchen. 

Andrew doesn't want to make out, though. 

He wants to case the place.

“One of your boys already came by,” Roland says. “He asked around, but he didn't find anything.”

“Did you hide anything from him?” Andrew says.

“No, of course not. Not if it meant you guys being safe.”

“We were not safe,” Andrew says. “A Fox died on Halloween.”

Roland sighs. “I know. We were shut down for a month or two. Nicky said you were getting off the drugs.”

There is no way they came here while Andrew was in rehab. Even if they'd wanted to, Neil wouldn't have let them. Kevin wouldn't, either. They must have been texting. 

“Who were the bouncers on duty on Halloween and the time we came in the summer?” Andrew says.

“Uh—it would've been Rick and Tommy for Halloween, not sure about the summer one. Let me pull it up.” 

Roland turns on the ancient computer they keep their records on, stands just a little too close to Andrew. Andrew keeps one eye on the hand that isn't on the mouse. 

“It was June 15,” Andrew says when Roland opens the June spreadsheet.

“It looks like—yeah, Tommy again, but he was with Pat.”

Andrew frowns. “Check July 8.”

“Um—Tommy and Rick again. I think Tommy works most Fridays. Nothing happened that time, though, right?”

No. But maybe Tommy said something anyway. He's the bouncer the rest of them know the least well, started working here right before they left for Palmetto. 

“Do you have his number?” Andrew says.

Roland hands Andrew his phone, making sure their hands touch. Andrew doesn't bother to roll his eyes. He calls Tommy.

“Sup, Roland,” Tommy says. “I'm not late, am I?”

“I am going to give you thirty seconds to tell me whether or not you leaked our location to the administration,” Andrew says. “If you lie, I will know.” He pulls up another spreadsheet. “You live at 93 Eagle Lane, and I have nothing to lose.”

Tommy is dead quiet for ten of those thirty seconds. “Andrew Minyard?” he says. “You sound funny.”

It's the meds, not being on them anymore. Roland made the same comment when Andrew first got here.

“Twenty seconds,” Andrew says. 

“No, I didn't tell anyone anything,” Tommy says. “Are you kidding? Eden's is a safe space. This is Columbia, not fucking Charleston. You know I wouldn't do that, Andrew.”

And honestly, Andrew does know. Unless he was getting paid very well, Tommy wouldn't sacrifice the sanctity of Eden's Twilight. He has no reason to. 

Andrew hangs up on him and gives Roland his phone back.

“So you aren't going to murder him?” Roland says. 

Andrew looks back at the spreadsheet of employee shifts. There's no way to know who it was—Tommy and Roland were the only consistencies. Eden's is a bar that switches out employees frequently with the goal of keeping itself safe for even people wanted by the government. It provides jobs to the desperate. It provides cover to people like Andrew. 

He doesn't think the bar sold out. If it had, Roland would have knocked him out already. Everyone knows Kevin Day can't survive without his personal monster, even if they don't know he's recruited a second one.

“No,” Andrew says. 

“Would you really have killed him?” Roland says. His voice is closer this time, and abruptly Andrew is aware of the heat of Roland's body behind his. He knows he isn't supposed to creep up on Andrew; it takes Andrew a shocking amount of self-control to keep himself from re-teaching Roland that lesson. 

“Yes,” Andrew says. “And I will kill you too if you do not move away.”

Startled, Roland does. Andrew turns around, fixes him with a cool stare. 

“Not interested today, then?” Roland says. “I thought you missed me. Unless you and the new kid finally made something happen.”

“Finally?” Andrew says. 

“Oh, come on, Andrew,” Roland says. “I know you better than most people.”

Better than Nicky and Aaron, probably. Not better than Renee or Neil. But Roland doesn't know Renee, and he's only met Neil three times.

Enough to guess, though. Andrew doesn't think of himself as transparent, but maybe he should start. 

“I'm leaving,” Andrew says. 

He doesn't thank Roland, but Roland's “You're welcome!” echoes behind Andrew as he leaves the club and gets into his car.

Wymack's place next.

Picking Wymack's lock is as easy now as it was the last time Andrew was here. He remembers going through Wymack's things, looking for Neil's file, every instinct telling him Neil was dangerous. His instincts were right, Andrew thinks, but his interpretation wasn't. Neil isn't dangerous to Kevin. He is dangerous to Andrew. 

Wymack is eating dinner alone at his kitchen table. He has a knife in his hand before he's fully turned around, but then he catches sight of Andrew and relaxes.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

“I'm sleeping here tonight,” Andrew says. He steals a bottle of whiskey from Wymack's liquor cabinet and sits down on the couch to drink it, half-paying attention as Wymack takes the battery out of his regular phone and sets his burner—Foxes only—on the table. 

“Should I be expecting a call?” he says.

“No,” Andrew says. 

“Are you going to give me an explanation?”

Andrew takes another drink straight from the bottle instead of answering. Wymack gives him a long-suffering stare and then says, “The president died.”

“I know,” Andrew says. “I saw the parades.”

*

He is expecting a calming ride back to Palmetto the next morning. He wants to spend the time ruminating on the intricacies of Neil Josten, Neil Josten who doesn't swing but kissed him, Neil Josten who may or may not be having a crisis of sexuality that Andrew certainly does not want to be a part of. Neil Josten who lies and lies and lies, but can't really do it very well. Neil Josten who said yes.

Or possibly just listening to the radio. He can usually get one of the illegal stations on the highway here if he spends some time tuning the AM radio just right.

But he doesn't get the opportunity, because as soon as he hits the highway, he notices that he is being tailed. 

Whoever it is drives an unmarked dark blue car. Andrew knows all about unmarked dark blue cars, and he takes the next exit to make sure the person is actually tailing him.

They follow him. He winds through narrow roads and down wide main streets, gets back on the highway going in the wrong direction, speeds, and still—they're following him. They aren't shooting at him. They aren't getting closer. They're just following, like eventually they'll freak him out enough that he will stop and retaliate.

They don't know Andrew Minyard. He almost smiles. 

It won't have been Roland who told. He must have thought Andrew was leaving Columbia right after he left Eden's Twilight. And Wymack would die before sacrificing a single hair on any Fox's head. Of all the people he needs to trust in his everyday life, Wymack is the one Andrew trusts the most, and maybe that's stupid, but he doesn't for a second think that Wymack betrayed him. 

Maybe it was his phone. He texted Dan that he'd be on his way back today. If she told anyone—

He wonders how quickly a mid-2000s Ford sedan can actually move. His car is about a thousand times nicer than that, could easily hit 150, and the highway is relatively empty. They'd be able to tail him for a bit, but eventually he'd be out of reach, and then—

And then, he doesn't know what. He'd have to total his car to get away from them, and he doesn't actually know if he'd survive totaling another car. Also, then he wouldn't have a car. 

He speeds up anyway. He needs to get to Fox Tower. At least there, he has weapons. If they follow him into Palmetto, they will bring the might of the Moriyamas on themselves. 

Unless the Moriyamas have finally decided the Foxes are a big enough problem that taking them out would outweigh the political losses. 

Somehow, Andrew doesn't think they have. The Foxes have Jean. That's enough to piss off Riko but not Ichirou, and anyway the main family is too busy with funeral preparations to care about Jean Moreau.

He speeds up more, looks up at his rearview. The car is getting farther away by the minute, half a mile of highway opening up between them. Three quarters. A full mile, the car a speck against the horizon. 

He speeds up more. He's going 120. If another car pops up anywhere near him, he probably won't be able to come to a full stop before he sees it, but he finds it difficult to care. He just needs to get back to Fox Tower, and then it'll be fine. 

He passes the sign for Palmetto. The exit is a mile and a half away. He looks in his rearview—the other car is out of sight.

He slows down. Just enough to take the exit, but he slows down. His adrenaline stays spiked, heart beating uncomfortably somewhere in the realm of his throat, vision sharper than it should be. 

The familiar path to the old Palmetto State campus shouldn't be comforting—it's more like a prison than a home, really—but it is anyway, Fox Tower looming ahead like Sauron's eye or the tower of Babel. Andrew speeds up again, lurches into the underground parking lot, and takes the elevator into the building.

Maybe they wanted to kill him and steal his keys. Pick the unsuspecting Foxes off one by one. Can't be a dangerous political move if you kill everyone in silence.

He only goes up one floor to the strategy room. Allison is there, and she doesn't notice when Andrew steps in, just continues her rant about what must be Jean.

“—made me get that fucking prick with my own hands when he's the one who—”

“Hello,” Andrew says.

Allison whirls around. She only spares Andrew a few seconds before saying, “Fuck this,” and marching out of the strategy room.

“You spent the night at Wymack's?” Dan says. 

“Yes.”

“How is he?” 

“Did you tell anyone about my text?” 

Dan blinks. “Of course not. Someone here is ratting us the fuck out. I don't know if it's your dumb ass brother or Allison or what, but I wasn't about to tell any of them.”

Dan's trust in her Foxes is fraying. That is dangerous for all of them.

“Someone found out,” Andrew says. “I was tailed by a pig halfway here.”

Dan startles, looks up from her computer. “What?”

“I left Wymack's, and by the time I was on the highway, I was being followed.”

“You're sure they were following you?”

He led them on a wild goose chase through Columbia. They were definitely following him. “Yes,” Andrew says. 

“I knew Wymack was being watched,” she says. “It's probably best he hasn't been here in so long. Fuck, the lockdown was actually a good idea, _fuck_ —I shouldn't have sent you out there.”

“What were you going to do? Show up in a few weeks without knowing who was guarding it?”

“I shouldn't have put you in danger,” Dan says. “I should've gone myself.”

Andrew blinks. “I do not need—”

“Shut up,” Dan says. “I don't need your martyr-can-take-care-of-myself shit right now. We all need to keep each other safe, and that includes you.”

“A minute ago you said you didn't trust anyone here.”

“That isn't the point,” Dan says. She runs a hand through short curly hair. “We're going to need you at the prison break meeting tonight, but there's no way you're coming to Columbia with us if they're already on to you. It's not like your car blends in. You can be on watch here instead of Neil. Only you—we don't want to tell too many Foxes what's going on, and Matt already knows since he's going to be the emergency contact.” She taps something on her computer. “Go get something to eat,” she adds. “Neil is in the kitchen.”

Neil is in the kitchen. Andrew goes anywhere but.

*

Something must have changed in him chemically, because sparring with Renee doesn't help nearly as much as it used to.

They go up to the roof to smoke after. Renee doesn't like sitting on the ledge, so they sit up against it instead, Andrew slowly making his way through a new pack of cigs.

He doesn't know what he's doing. For the first time in years, maybe ever, he isn't sure what to do. Before, even if the choices he was making were self-destructive, he was still sure he wanted to make them. He decided to kill Aaron's mother if she touched Aaron. She touched Aaron. He killed her. He decided to stay with Cass no matter what Drake did. Drake raped him. He stayed with Cass. He decided to keep Nicky and Aaron safe no matter what. They ended up listed. He got in his car and drove them to Palmetto. 

But this—he doesn't have the framework for it. Even if it is only physical, it's stupid. It's _Neil_. Of course it's stupid. 

“What is it?” Renee says. 

It doesn't matter what choice he makes really. They're going to die anyway, probably. Andrew can't stand between Neil and his own death wish.

“Andrew.”

She's a good person. Andrew isn't. He says as much.

But Renee shakes her head. “Just because I try to make good choices, doesn't mean I am a good person.”

“You do make good choices.”

“So do you.” 

Andrew exhales a stream of smoke through his teeth. Probably bad for his enamel, but it's unlikely he'll live long enough for it to matter.

“Not always,” he says.

“Yes, because the right choice does not come naturally to you. You have to think about it. You are like me.” Renee continues when Andrew doesn't dispute this. “My impulse is not to do 'the right thing.' Doing the right thing is a conscious choice and a constant struggle. That is how I try to be, if not inherently good, then at least a person whose impact is mostly positive.”

She's playing with her crucifix again. Andrew thinks idly that he wishes he could've devoted himself to something the way she devoted herself to her faith when someone saved her from a living hell, but instead he's just been drifting, surviving for the sake of ensuring that other people survive, for so long that it feels like his true nature now.

Renee is still watching him.

“You are a good person,” Andrew says again. “People whose natural choices are the good ones aren't trying. You're trying. That makes you good.”

She smiles, just a bit. “Aren't you trying?”

“I don't try.”

“Don't you?”

It's Neil—of course—who cuts into their conversation.

“There you are,” he says to Andrew. He looks almost relieved. “Hi, Renee.”

Renee takes the hint, smiles at Andrew, and goes back inside.

“I've been looking for you for ages.”

Bullshit, obviously. This is always the first place Neil checks. By the looks of it, he knows Andrew knows.

“I checked here first,” Neil says. Predictable. “You weren't here, though.” He looks at the arm Andrew is deliberately not leaning on. “Sparring?”

Andrew stands up. He won't be that transparent.

“What were you working out?”

“My muscles.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “I hate when you're deliberately obtuse.”

“I hate when you're in my general vicinity, so looks like we're even.”

Neil's mouth twitches. Andrew looks at anything else. That familiar flurry in the pit of his stomach: fear. More than a few hours ago when he was literally in a car chase. More than when he came up here and peered over the edge. Pure, uncut fear. He forces it down.

“You've been avoiding me.”

Andrew doesn't say anything.

“You're moody today.”

“I don't have moods,” Andrew says.

“Bullshit.” Neil steals the cigarette from between Andrew's fingers and takes an experimental drag. Andrew forces himself to look away. “Sometimes you're in a talkative mood. Sometimes you're in a glower-y mood. Today you're in a contemplative mood, which means you're being really quiet and kind of brusque.”

Andrew is always quiet and kind of brusque. Though not, he thinks, with Neil, who apparently has started to think of himself as special.

“Stop acting like you know me,” Andrew says, and then, “You said you didn't swing. Were you lying, or are you having an identity crisis?”

“Everything about me is an identity crisis.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“I said I don't swing, and I meant it,” Neil says. “The only one I want is you.”

“Every time you speak, I barely resist the urge to throw you over the edge of this roof.”

Neil stands up and climbs onto the ledge, looking down, judging. Then he starts to lower himself off it.

Andrew knows, he _knows_ that Neil is fucking with him. But he yanks him back anyway, on the off chance Neil's death wish and penchant for getting under Andrew's skin will finally unite. 

“I thought so,” Neil says, letting himself be yanked and leaning against Andrew as if Andrew is something solid to lean on. “I have a question for you.”

Andrew steals his cigarette back and waits.

“Is it that you don't like being touched at all, or just that you only like being touched on your terms?”

It takes Andrew a moment to parse. “Are you hoping for a roadmap?”

“I'm hoping for you to tell me where the lines are before I cross them, but if you're offering.” Neil shrugs. “I'm good with a map, and I'm still waiting for your signal that one even exists.”

Andrew thinks, I could have died today. He says, “It exists.”

“Does that mean you're going to stop avoiding me?”

Andrew opens his mouth to deny it, but then he gets distracted by how intently Neil is staring at him. He hooks his fingers in the collar of Neil's shirt to drag him closer.

“Yes or no?” Andrew says.

Neil smiles. “Yes.”

“Don't touch me,” Andrew says, and kisses him. 

Kissing Neil is not quite like kissing anyone else. For one, Neil has no idea what he's doing, but he does it as single-mindedly as he does everything else, like he can practice his way to perfection. It's not the worst strategy to have for this in particular, Andrew supposes. Besides, Neil is a quick study, observant and reactive and picking up on Andrew's smallest tics. If he notices that Andrew likes something, he does it again; if he gets no reaction from Andrew, he stops. 

Andrew wraps his hand loosely around Neil's throat, brushing against Neil's pulse. Something about it helps Andrew stay in the moment, not his memories. He kisses Neil's jaw, and the hum it elicits is so remarkably _Neil_ that Andrew almost laughs.

“What?” Neil says, pulling away a little.

“Nothing,” Andrew says. 

There's a pause. 

“This is really okay?” Neil says. 

“Yes.”

“Dan told me someone chased your car down the highway.” 

“It was a cop,” Andrew says. “I had fake plates, and I shook him off after half an hour.”

Neil gazes at Andrew, a long quiet moment where he doesn't do anything except look. He's still close enough to kiss, his legs in inch away from Andrew's, his hands shoved into his back pockets so that his upper arms tense and flex. A new feeling, layered under fear and want: discomfort.

“Don't look at me like that,” Andrew says.

“I could've come with you,” Neil says.

“Someone had to be with Kevin.” Besides, Andrew is under no illusions about Neil Josten. One second's eye contact with a cop and he'd be gone for good. 

“Someone should've been with you,” Neil says. “Kevin had all the Foxes. You didn't have anyone.”

“You would have left Jean to the mercy of the other Foxes too?”

“We got him away from Riko,” Neil says. “I didn't realize that made us his bodyguards.”

“Columbia was my mission,” Andrew says. “You aren't supposed to know about it.”

“Dan thought it was important enough to tell me.”

Andrew remembers her comment about partners. He forces himself not to react. “Are you honestly saying you wouldn't have run at the first sign of trouble?”

Neil opens his mouth and then closes it again.

Andrew doesn't say “I told you so,” but it's a close thing.

“I wouldn't have left you alone,” Neil says at last.

“Don't pretend this is anything it isn't.”

“What is it, exactly?” 

“It's nothing,” Andrew says. “I hate you.”

“You hate me,” Neil says. “And yet here we are.”

“I'm not lying.”

Another long, quiet moment. “I know,” Neil says.

It's a weakness anyway, gnawing away at Andrew's compacted insides. “I mean it.”

“It's fine if you hate me. It's better.”

“Good,” Andrew says. “Because I do.”

He reaches for Neil's jaw, runs his thumb over it, feels the stubble there. Tugs Neil back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Middle school English teachers: always use complete sentences  
> Me, doing the chicken dance: aLwAyS uSe CoMpLeTe SeNtEnCeS
> 
> The claw marks thing is a metaphor I borrowed from Infinite Jest. 
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com) | [main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com)). Please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo!


	11. Chapter 11

There are three problems with making a propaganda video featuring Jean Moreau.

First is the Seth problem: the resistance knows him as the person who killed one of the Foxes. He is the only Raven who has killed anyone in the resistance that they know of, mainly because the resistance has always been made up of small loosely-connected cells across the country. Kevin changed that, and then Neil changed him, pushing all the Foxes into more proactive roles. 

The resistance hates Jean Moreau.

Second is the Riko problem. Riko hasn't been out in public since his father's death except for one highly publicized picture of him leading the Ravens in a raid in some desert-covered country. The image had no geographic markers—it could just as easily have been Arizona as Saudi Arabia. 

All signs point to him being pissed off beyond belief. The other Ravens in the photo stood nowhere near him, and all of them looked battered. Jean himself couldn't walk until a week after his arrival, and maybe that was because Aaron is not actually a doctor and Abby couldn't do all that much via video chat, but maybe it was because Riko is relentless. 

In short, releasing a video of Jean might piss Riko off enough to finally attack Fox Tower without care for how bad it might be for the Moriyamas. 

But the Moriyamas aren't in the best place politically. It might be for the greater good. Sacrifice one shelter city, and dismantle their political hold on the southeast. The southwest has been gone for months. Massachusetts and New York are already breaking free. California is a step away from seceding altogether. 

Third is the Jean problem. He isn't one of those Ravens who wholeheartedly believes in the Moriyama project. He was sold to the Moriyamas by parents looking to gain political capital as a child. He has as much reason to want the Moriyamas out of power as any of the Foxes.

The issue is that he isn't, as far as any of them know, particularly brave. Unlike Kevin, who was around Neil for so long that Neil's stupid streak rubbed off on him, Jean seems immune to Neil's charms. Dragging him out of bed for long enough to star in a video that will probably end up getting him killed when the Moriyamas inevitably catch him on his way to L.A. doesn't seem feasible.

Except that, when Andrew gets to the room they film in to make sure Kevin doesn't do anything stupid, Kevin is standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jean. The two of them are talking rapidly in French, gesturing to a Neil who is too concerned with making changes to the script to defend himself from whatever they're saying. 

“So Jean decided to be brave,” Andrew observes in German. 

Neil looks up and smiles, enough to show teeth. Andrew blinks. He wasn't expecting it.

“Kevin has that effect on people,” Neil says, also in German, but Andrew knows better. It isn't Kevin who has that effect on people. It's his shadow, a five foot three half-feral redhead who spends ninety percent of his time trying to get himself killed and claims all he cares about is surviving. “He is stronger than he thinks he is. So is Jean.” 

Then, when Andrew doesn't say anything, Neil adds: “You should stay and watch.”

“Why?”

“You don't want to see us try and change the world?”

“No.”

“Stay anyway. You can take on a more proactive role.”

“Why should I?”

Neil quirks an eyebrow. “I'll make it worth your while.” 

“What will you give me?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Don't make promises you can't keep,” Andrew says.

“I'm not,” Neil says. He turns to Jean and Kevin and switches to English. “Are you two done? Can we get started?”

Jean and Kevin start practicing with the scripts Neil hands them. Andrew settles on the chair next to Neil's, close enough that their legs almost brush, and watches.

*

“Right, right,” Dan says. “There's no way you can meet us in your car after you got Jean out in it—we'll have to have you in another car in Columbia when we get there.”

“And then Britt can meet us—right?” Allison says over video chat. She always does these calls from her bathroom, the one room that is reliably not bugged. One of the many perks of being an oligarch's daughter. “Is she still bringing Blue Devils with her?”

“She'd better,” Dan says. “I'm not sending my guys to Raleigh if they can't be bothered to come down here. At least Columbia is safe.”

“She said she'd bring Nittany Lions if there was a problem with them,” Renee says. 

“But she's flying from Harrisburg,” Allison says. “That's a big fucking risk.”

“She should come alone if they will not join her,” Andrew interjects, because Neil has encouraged him to be more proactive. Well, he says encouraged. Means bribed. “More than one Nittany Lion will be too conspicuous. They will be looking for fakes at the airport.” 

Allison stares at him. She would probably look less surprised if the words came from a donkey. Andrew thinks he has said one word in front of her since getting sober.

“He's right,” Matt says. “If she doesn't get any of the Blue Devils, she's better off driving to Columbia solo.”

“I'll text her,” Dan says. “Fuck, I wish there were more of us. I don't like having to trust any of these people.”

She means other resistance groups. Andrew gets it—Britt is a powder keg, the Blue Devils are unknown quantities, and even the Trojans who are currently setting up their leg of the “Free Jean Moreau” tour must be hiding something behind those tans and sunny smiles. 

“Especially when we don't even have all the Foxes in the room, right,” Matt says, without pointing out the obvious—the only people not in the room are Andrew's. Neil, Kevin, Aaron, Nicky. Andrew is more surprised to find himself in here than he is to find them out there, but maybe Matt doesn't feel the same way. “I just think if we're going to rely on Neil to be half of our backup plan—”

“Just make sure he doesn't go out that night,” Dan says. “You can fill him in if you need to. I only wanted one of you in the know, and you've been here longer.”

No one mentions the other reason she'd rather tell Matt than Neil, but she glances at Andrew. He has no qualms, however. The less Neil knows, the less Neil can fuck up by butting in.

“Are we done?” Allison says. “I'm supposed to be meeting the prodigal son himself for dinner.”

“You're having dinner with Riko?” Matt says. “What the fuck?”

“Apparently he has a proposition for me,” Allison says. “Your videos must be working.”

“Yeah, you're good,” Dan says. “Thanks, Allison. See you next week.”

Allison winks and signs off. Dan looks around at the rest of them.

“Are we good?” she asks. “Renee? Andrew?”

“We're good,” Renee says. 

Andrew doesn't say anything.

*

Thanks to Wymack's sentimentality, it is always difficult to find an empty bedroom in Fox Tower. There is ample space—they didn't need to have roommates, and certainly not more than one—but most of the rooms are empty, with half-built scraps of crappy college dorm furniture in them.

Nevertheless, the opportunity to get Neil alone presents itself one evening, when Matt is watching some movie in the girls' lounge. They were invited, but Neil turned Matt down. Presumptuous.

It works on Andrew even though it probably shouldn't: not long after Matt leaves, Andrew and Neil end up on Neil's bed. Not long after that: Andrew tugs at the hem of Neil's t-shirt in question, and Neil goes momentarily still. 

“I have—scars,” Neil says. 

No shit. “Show me.” 

Neil is silent, and at first Andrew thinks he might refuse. Then: “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Who says I have scars?”

“Come on, Andrew. I know what hiding things looks like.”

It only takes an instant to make the decision. Andrew rolls off Neil, sits down cross-legged on the bed, and peels off first one wristband, then the other. He flashes the scarred undersides of his wrists at Neil, but doesn't wait for Neil to understand what it is he's seeing before starting to put the wristbands back on.

Neil's hand shoots out to stop him, almost wraps around Andrew's arm.

“No,” Andrew says, and Neil's hand freezes, so close that Andrew can almost feel its warmth. 

“Andrew—”

“I showed you mine,” Andrew says, getting his bands back in place. “Show me yours.” 

Neil looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn't. Instead, he tugs his shirt off collar-first like he doesn't care about fucking up the material. His chest is more scar than unblemished skin, but the worst of it stops before it reaches his upper arms. Whoever did it knew Neil would have to hide them from teachers. It isn't accidental, not that Andrew ever thought it might be. This is the product of carefully-controlled abuse. 

“My dad, mostly,” Neil says. Andrew didn't ask. “My mom sometimes, when we were—when I was younger.”

Andrew covers one angry red mark on Neil's shoulder with his palm. Neil just stares back at him, steady, like he always is. Abruptly Andrew wishes that he'd met Neil years ago, made their deal when Neil was twelve or ten or eight. Or younger, maybe. When did Neil say his parents died?

Andrew leans forward. He wants to kiss Neil or touch him or—something. He doesn't know what. 

“Yes or no?” Andrew says. 

“It's always yes with you,” Neil says. 

“Don't always me,” Andrew says.

“You're right,” Neil says. “At some point—” A hesitation, or maybe Andrew imagines it. “I want out of our deal.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? Don't you need both parties to be in agreement for a deal to work?”

Andrew leans back to glare at him. Without Andrew's hand on his shoulder, Neil hugs himself, like he feels self-conscious about the scars. Andrew ignores the bite of anger in the back of his throat at this. 

“Kevin's not going to leave,” Neil says. “I don't have an end to hold up anymore. The deal is over.”

“Then we are making a new one.”

“No.”

“Why?”

Neil looks away, then back at Andrew, the hint of something real in those pale blue eyes of his. “You were right. The other day, when you got tailed. I don't know if I would've run or stayed with you, but—my point is, I want to know. What I'd do. I can't if you don't give me the chance.”

“The chance to die,” Andrew says. 

“I'm not going to die,” Neil says. Andrew almost laughs—there is no way Neil doesn't know how hilarious that sounds considering just how much of a murder magnet he is. “Or—I don't know. Maybe I am. But I still want out of the deal.”

“Why?”

“I just told you,” Neil says. “I want to stay for you, not because of you.”

“It's the same thing.”

“You know it's not.”

“It's the same thing,” Andrew repeats. “Your semantics do not change reality just because they change the way you feel about it.”

“Humor me, then.”

Andrew wraps a hand around the back of Neil's neck to tug him back in. “Listen to me,” Andrew says. “Don't start thinking this is something it isn't. I am not your answer, and you sure as fuck aren't mine.”

“Then let me go,” Neil says, except that he lets himself be dragged toward Andrew.

Andrew only kisses him to prove a point. What point or to whom is irrelevant. 

“Fine,” Andrew says. “But if you get yourself killed, don't come crying to me.”

“Won't be able to,” Neil says, and then, “Thank you.”

Andrew makes eye contact with him. It's a mistake. Neil has that awful look on his face, like he thinks Andrew is something better, or like he thinks Andrew is anything at all. Andrew hates it. 

“Don't look at me like that,” he says, but Neil just smiles back at him. 

Andrew was right. Neil is going to be the death of them all.

*

Jean's presence in Fox Tower already feels like an odd blip, and he isn't even gone yet. He is standing in the parking lot, wearing a hoodie that will be much too warm once he gets to Los Angeles, and carrying only a small backpack.

He will be driven to the West Coast by some secret resistance members who still operate mostly above-ground. They plan to lie their way to Nevada and then underground railroad their way to L.A. Pretend it's a road trip to Vegas, detour once they get within arm's reach of a casino. 

It's possible that Allison could have flown him there on a Reynolds private jet. No one wanted to take the chance, but no one is saying what chance they didn't want to take—them getting caught, or Allison murdering Jean from five miles above sea level.

At any rate, being driven there by a series of resistance members, switching cars and drivers every couple of states, and the standard resistance disguise (baseball cap and sunglasses—they might have nice computers, but they aren't James Bond) should be enough to protect Jean. They'll put the video out once he is safely in L.A. That way no one who isn't in the Ravens' inner circle knows he isn't with the Ravens anymore. 

His goodbyes with most of them are quick and quiet. He lingers on Renee (a hug), and then on Neil (a rapid conversation in French that Kevin watches, frowning), and then on Kevin (another hug, awkward at first but then brotherly). 

“Thank you,” he tells all of them.

Then he is gone.

*

“He wants to try a coup,” Allison says. She's on a call with Renee, and Andrew is sitting in by courtesy of having been mid-spar when Allison called. “I mean, it really fucking worked, those videos of yours. He's gonna lose it when he sees the one of Jean.”

“Is he going to call for a vote and run against his brother?” Renee says.

“You'd think, right? No, he wants to lead the Ravens and the rest of the military in a literal coup d'etat.”

“What did he need you for?”

Allison grins. “He wants me to be the face of the new administration.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I told him I'd have to think about it,” Allison says. “But I also told him—you'll love this, Minyard—that it'd be really bad for his brother if word got out that he was planning anything. That it'd destabilize the entire thing, even if he wasn't successful.” 

“Psychological manipulation,” Renee says. “Cruel.” But she has that old wiped-blank expression of hers, the one that says she wouldn't mind seeing Riko end up dead as the result of his own shitty machinations.

“He really thinks he's going to overtake the Moriyama military with a hundred of his guys. Like, he is fucking convinced. Is that not insane?”

“Power makes people delusional,” Andrew tells her. 

“He was really pissed off that the Butcher won't join him,” Allison says. “He's back from wherever he was, Belarus or whatever, and apparently he went straight back to Baltimore and is wholly resistant to any coup attempts. Which is hilarious, because if he went along with it, he and a couple of other sects might actually make Riko strong enough to win. But the Butcher alone could probably slaughter half the Ravens, and if you add in those creeps he has—”

She stops, jerking up from her cozy-looking spot on the toilet and looking over her shoulder. “Okay, kids. Gotta go. See you tomorrow.” 

She blows them—or just Renee, more likely—a kiss and hangs up.

Andrew waits for Renee to say something. She just stares back at him, un-blushing, and then stands up and squares herself.

“Are you ready?” she says. 

Andrew kicks her legs out from under her.

“Always,” he says.

*

The Moriyamas hold a massive memorial ceremony for Kengo forty-nine days after his death.

Coincidentally—or not—the Foxes plan their prison break for that night. 

The ceremony is a good distraction. The resistance groups across the country have successfully sown enough discord that there are riots throughout, demanding a real vote for president even as Ichirou continues to rule in the interim. The Nittany Lions have somehow managed to recruit enough members of the military—most of them formerly listed teenagers who have somehow resisted both brainwashing and inevitable death—to threaten to stage a coup in Pennsylvania. The southwest is in open rebellion, so much so that in order to beat them, the Moriyamas would probably have to firebomb the entire region. 

The worst of all of it—for the Moriyamas—is the march in D.C., massive enough that even the one right after Kengo's death doesn't really compare. They storm the White House. Andrew watches all of it on an illegal livestream with the rest of Foxes, all of whom are on the edges of their seats all day.

The group meant to actually lead the prison break—Dan and Renee, Britt, a couple of Blue Devils coming down from North Carolina to help, getaway driver Allison, Matt staying in Fox Tower as backup—start disappearing one by one. Eventually, Andrew has to leave, too, to watch what's going on with them on the camera Renee is wearing on her lapel.

Their operation is more sophisticated than it might have been without Allison's intervention. She got them standard issue military uniforms—not Ravens, but just below, the rank where children of oligarchs get their taste of war. She even secured one of the Moriyama military's preferred vehicles, a sleek black armored car.

Kevin slots in next to Andrew after around an hour, fully armed, looking every bit a Raven for once. Even the tattoo on his cheek doesn't look like an insult tonight. Andrew appreciates it; Kevin might be a coward, but he is an excellent shot, and he'll be valuable if something actually happens tonight.

The crew reaches the prison an hour and a half later. They make it past the first round of security with minimal issues. Andrew half-watches, thoughts drifting to Neil, that scar on his shoulder. 

“Andrew?”

Andrew turns; it's Aaron, and he looks ill. Andrew's heart stutters: has he been paying so much attention to the Foxes' mission that he's neglected this promise? 

“What is it?” Andrew says, standing up to check his brother for damage.

“It's Nicky,” Aaron says, and he can't keep the thread of panic out of his voice. “He's in your car, I guess he wanted to go somewhere? But he's not okay. We need to get down to him now. Kevin, you should come too.”

Andrew's phone starts to vibrate. He presses the end call button without even checking to see who it is. He doesn't believe in family, but if there is one duty he knows he has—

“What do you mean, not okay?” Kevin says. 

“I mean—” Aaron says, and then gets cut off by Matt showing up right behind him.

“Oh, hey, it's a party,” Matt says. “Just wanted to check and see if Neil was here. He's not in bed, and I thought maybe—”

“Why would he be here?” Aaron says. Andrew's phone starts to vibrate again. He ignores it. “He probably went for a run. Andrew, it's urgent.”

“What happened to Nicky?” Kevin says. “Is it Erik?”

“You just have to come see him,” Aaron says. “Please, he's downstairs, I—”

“You know I hate that word,” Andrew says automatically, but he pats himself down for his weapons anyway. Finds them all there.

Matt's phone starts to vibrate, and he actually answers it. “Yeah? Everything okay?”

A moment's pause: “No, he's here with me. Yeah, no, I was just looking for—okay, sure.” He holds the phone out to Andrew. “It's for you.”

“Who is it?” Kevin says.

“Andrew, we need to get out of here,” Aaron says. Definitely panicked. 

“It's Dan,” Matt says. “She needs to talk to you.”

Maybe she knows where Neil is. Andrew takes the phone, and Matt walks over to the computer to replace Andrew on watch. And Kevin, because Kevin looked up from the screens when Matt walked in and hasn't looked back.

“What?” Andrew says.

“Holy shit,” Matt says, just as Dan says, “It's Aaron. He hasn't been talking to Katelyn all this time.”

Andrew thinks his heart stops and then restarts. There is the strangest silence, like all his bodily functions have ceased, and then a roar as they kick off again, numbing his eardrums, so that when he hears Dan's next words, it's like she is shouting them across a mile-wide chasm. 

“Andrew, Katelyn is here. She's been here for a year. Aaron's the leak.”

“What does she want?” Aaron says. His voice doesn't sound like he is across a chasm. His voice is right there, sharp and anxious in Andrew's ears. “Stop stalling. We need to go. Nicky needs you.”

Andrew hangs up. If it were his own phone, he'd smash it. As it is, he barely resists doing just that.

“Aaron,” Andrew says, voice even, the still water around a riptide, “Where is Neil?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com/) | [main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com)). please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo!


	12. Chapter 12

All Andrew sees is blue. The color of his veins peeking up through translucent skin after a workout. The color of his sheets upstairs in the room he rehabbed in. The gown he wore during his last hospital stay. Neil's eyes.

He blinks rapidly. It isn't anyone's eyes. It's Aaron's t-shirt, fisted in Andrew's hand—or it's the bruise Kevin is about to get, if he keeps trying to pull Andrew off of him.

“I don't know,” Aaron says again. “I don't know what they wanted from him. They didn't specify, I—”

“Where's Nicky?” Kevin says, voice strained. “Where were you taking us?”

“Our of here,” Aaron says. “You said you didn't care!” he adds, looking back at Andrew. “It's not like I was trying to kidnap you from something you really believed in. I was trying to save your life, and I knew you wouldn't leave without Kevin, so—”

“Where is Nicky?” Kevin repeats.

“In the car,” Aaron says miserably. “He thinks we're going to Columbia.”

Matt steps in, taking up most of Andrew's vision.

“Andrew,” he says. “We're not going to accomplish anything if you kill Aaron. We need him for information.”

“He can still talk without his hands,” Andrew says. The same hands he used to text whoever he kept telling them was Katelyn. The same hands he used to give up Neil. 

Matt actually looks tempted, but instead, he carefully pries his phone out of Andrew's hand, somehow managing not to touch Andrew as he does it. Distantly, Andrew registers Matt making a phone call, but the only thing Andrew cares about is the look on Aaron's face, an expression his own would never make, not again. That _pleading_. It makes Andrew want to vomit. 

“Yeah, you'd better come up here,” Matt is saying. “We're trying to diffuse a situation, and you might be able to help out.”

Andrew is not a bomb to be diffused. He is much more precise than that. That's what no one ever got, no one but Neil. He does not aim to maximize damage. His objective is to minimize it. Cut off the rotten limb, cauterize the wound, move on. If the rotten limb is your brother, whom you have sworn to protect—

“Andrew, ask the little shit if there's a bomb here or something,” Matt says. “Why did he have to get you out of here tonight?”

“I can hear you,” Aaron says. 

“Proud of you,” Matt says. “Wasn't talking to you.”

Aaron spares him only a moment's glance, then looks back at Andrew. “I knew the other Foxes would be out tonight. Every res group had something planned for today. I just needed to figure out if the Foxes would leave or not, and which ones. I would've gotten you to safety,” he adds. “You and Kevin and Nicky. And Katelyn. I traded our safe trip out of the country for Neil. You hate him anyway, right? He doesn't matter, so—”

“You want to tell him, or should I?” Matt says. He is talking to Andrew. He is probably talking about Neil. 

Andrew doesn't look at him. 

“Neil doesn't matter,” Andrew repeats.

“If Riko wants him more than he wants Kevin, I think he probably matters,” Matt says.

Aaron shakes his head. “It's not Riko. I mean, it was, but someone else took over a couple of months ago.”

Matt's phone is vibrating. He answers.

“Already?” he says. “Did you finish—no, we're having a little bit of a crisis. Yeah, no, Neil is gone. Aaron sold him out.”

“What?”

Nicky, arriving, looking thoroughly shocked. 

“Aaron, you—”

“For you,” Aaron says. “We were going to get flights to Germany. Us and Katelyn. We still could, Andrew, just—”

“I know, I know,” Matt is telling someone who must be Dan. “I'm on the screens, Andrew is a little preoccupied. We don't know what Aaron knows yet, it wasn't Riko he was talking to I guess, but—yeah, yeah, hold on.”

“We can't just leave,” Nicky says. 

“But what about Erik?” Aaron says. “We can't just rot here, we—”

“Erik is waiting for me,” Nicky says. “He knows what we're doing here is important.” He takes a step back. “You were going to leave all the Foxes, give up Neil—”

“You think they would've just let you leave with Kevin?” Matt says. “He's a Raven, Aaron. They're never going to let him escape unless we get rid of all of them.” A brief pause, then: “Andrew, Dan wants to talk to you.”

Andrew is not going to let go of the front of Aaron's shirt until he knows where Neil is, and Matt seems to understand, because he holds his phone up to Andrew's ear.

“Andrew?” Dan says. “Andrew, listen. We're going to get that little fucker back, okay? He's not getting away from us that easily.”

“He already did,” Andrew says. If the phone were in his hand, he would hang up. Instead he tries to stretch the limits of his deal with Aaron. How far can he go before he has officially reneged? 

“We're going to find him, and we're going to kill whoever took him away from us,” Dan says. “We'll be back in an hour, and we'll figure it out as a group then. You know you can't do it alone.” 

A silence as she waits for Andrew to determine whether or not that's true. Apparently she is satisfied with whatever he doesn't say, because she says, “Don't kill Aaron. Let Matt keep an eye on him. Kevin needs to stay on watch.” Another silence, and then, “Andrew. Trust me. We're getting him back.”

Andrew's hand twitches, and then he lets go of Aaron. 

Matt pats Aaron down, dispassionately removes him of his weapons—two guns, because Aaron is not nearly as thorough as the rest of them and apparently expected very few issues tonight—and sits him down in a chair with no view of the screens.

“Kevin, keep watch,” Matt says. “Andrew, try to breathe. Nicky—”

“I've got Andrew,” Nicky says. He gestures to Andrew's chair. “Take a seat.”

Andrew shoves Nicky out of the way. He doesn't trust Matt not to let Aaron get away, but he also isn't convinced Aaron knows anything else of value. He takes the elevator up to his room, digs around in his desk drawer for his cigarettes, and then takes the elevator the rest of the way to the top floor. He staggers up the stairs to the roof. 

It's hot out. It's not the sticky kind of heat Andrew likes, but it's hot enough to make smoking feel like a weight on his chest. Still, it's something other than that awful feeling curling through his stomach right now.

He walks up to the ledge, leans over it, and looks down. 

He feels nothing. 

Or at least, nothing more.

*

Dan arrives with Allison and Renee not long after. Matt makes a big deal out of how quickly they must have driven, and Dan gives them all an update on the prison break: the prisoners who were set to join the Foxes will be here by morning courtesy of a tour bus Britt rented. The prisoners who were going to North Carolina are on their way there already, disguised as a sports team on a school bus. Apparently Durham is a big college sports town. Through the fog, Andrew remembers it—Duke, blue, South Carolina's old rivals. Andrew doesn't care—he will be long gone by then.

Around him, there is action. Andrew hasn't looked away from Aaron since he got down here, to the kitchen instead of the strategy room, where everyone is eating. How they can eat at a time like this—how they can make him _wait_ —

“Andrew,” Dan says. “Andrew, look at me.”

Andrew does.

“You alone are not going to be able to take down the Moriyamas.”

“You want him to ignore the fact that Neil is gone?” Nicky says, sounding slightly hysterical. “This is Andrew. He'd fight a hundred Ravens if he was pissed off enough.”

“No,” Dan says. “We're going to get him back.”

“He might be dead already,” Aaron says. “Besides, I wasn't talking to the Moriyamas. I was talking to the Butcher of Baltimore's people.”

Matt rounds on him. “You, shut the fuck up. The Butcher fucking _works for_ the Moriyamas. The _only_ reason you're still fucking alive is that you might know something. The only thing I want to fucking hear from you is Neil's location.”

“I'm alive because Andrew won't kill me,” Aaron says. “We have a deal.”

Now Aaron believes him. Terrific.

“Technically, aren't you supposed to not make any friends?” Nicky says. “Doesn't Katelyn kind of cancel that deal?”

Aaron opens his mouth, but Dan isn't interested.

“He can't be dead if they took him instead of Kevin,” she says. “They could've killed him whenever. He must be valuable somehow.”

They _could_ have killed him whenever. Who would have cared about a random runner found dead in Palmetto? 

The accident.

Andrew turns to Kevin, and all at once it becomes abundantly clear to Andrew that _he knows_.

“What?” Andrew says.

“I said he must be—”

“Not you,” Andrew says. “Him.”

Kevin meets Andrew's eyes. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

Andrew doesn't realize what he's doing until he is up and out of his seat, both hands around Kevin's throat.

“What,” Andrew says again, “ _do you know_?”

Kevin closes his eyes briefly, and someone behind them says, “Andrew, you're going to kill him.” Someone else, or maybe the same person: “Andrew, if he knows something, he can't tell you if he's dead.”

Kevin's eyes open again. His face is red. He raises a hand. Andrew loosens his grip, but barely.

“Neil is the Butcher's son,” Kevin says.

There's that buzzing in Andrew's ears again. He lets go of Kevin and takes a step back, then another, until he hits the table. Neil is the Butcher's son. This entire time—

“No he isn't,” someone says. The rest of them chime in, too, though Andrew can't distinguish their voices anymore. “We would've known. The _Butcher_ —you're fucking with us. Kevin. Seriously? How long have you known?”

“I knew it,” Aaron says. “He was obviously hiding something big.”

“You were hiding the fact that you were ready to betray every single one of us, you little fucking rat,” someone says. “Kevin, are you sure?”

“Yes,” Kevin says. “Do you remember when he came back here and said he had been in a car accident?”

“Yeah, and he was like, obviously fucking lying?”

“The Butcher's men showed up to tell him they knew where he was and that they would be collecting him as soon as the Butcher got back to the States.”

And then Neil kissed Andrew, and then he told Andrew he wanted out of their deal. What a fucking idiot. 

“He just told you all that?” someone says.

“No. I forced him to tell me. I threatened to stop helping him and tell Andrew to get rid of him if he did not. I thought—” Kevin looks at Andrew. “I thought he might be the spy until he told me who he was.”

Someone else, maybe Dan: “So you trust him? Even though he's the Butcher's son?”

“Yes,” Kevin says.

Andrew leaves.

He needs to find Renee. Dan is right—he can't take on the Butcher on his own, not even if he shows up to Baltimore or Washington or wherever the fuck with a fucking rocket launcher. He needs to tamp down this fury so he can focus, but right now all he can think about is how deeply he wants to murder Neil, because Neil fucking knew something like this was coming. He wanted out of their deal for exactly this reason. He manipulated Andrew, and Andrew couldn't find it within himself to tell Neil no, just like he never fucking can, and when he gets Neil back he is going to start with gouging out those fucking eyes of his and then maybe kneecap him for good measure.

She is in an empty room. Not just any room, but the one room Andrew actively avoids. The room she took over when she got here, the shitty makeshift chapel, complete with altar and Christ on the cross and figure of the fucking Virgin Mary. 

She is sitting on a folding chair, her head bowed over hands that are pressed together while she talks quickly under her breath.

Suddenly, Andrew wants to murder her too. He'd start with her hands.

“You think prayer is going to save us?” Andrew says. 

Renee doesn't look up until she has finished, and when she does her gaze is as flat as Andrew's.

“I think it will help.”

He hates her, too, and this entire stupid belief system. This idea—that some figure in the sky will suddenly, after all this time of not giving a shit about any of them, help them out for no fucking reason other than that Renee prayed—makes Andrew murderous. It's bullshit. Mary and her boyfriend fucked out of wedlock and she lied and got lucky that people actually believed her. Christ might've been a good person, might have even been a martyr, but he was not a god.

“I know what you think of my religion,” Renee says.

“I think you are wasting valuable time with it,” Andrew says. “We need to get weapons and we need to go.”

“We cannot get Neil back if it is just the two of us.”

“We are going to have to.”

“Andrew, he could be anywhere.”

“Then we will find him.”

“We cannot do it alone.”

“Then _I_ will do it alone,” Andrew says, and leaves her sitting there on her fucking folding chair in front of that stupid goddamn teenage girl who tricked the entire world into fighting wars on her son's behalf.

But when Andrew gets to the kitchen to either fetch Kevin or tell Kevin to stay here—he hasn't decided which is safer yet—the rest of the Foxes are fully armed. Kevin has his Raven expression back on his face, still, steady, a mask. Dan is talking rapidly into her phone.

“Britt's sending a group to meet us in Baltimore,” Dan says after she hangs up. “Allison is flying us out. We just need to meet her like fifteen miles west of here.” She looks into Andrew's face like she can read anything there. “Andrew. We're going to find him.”

“I'm coming,” Aaron says. 

“Why? So you can sell us out again?” Matt says. “We should keep you here, handcuffed to a chair.” 

“I wouldn't sell Andrew out,” Aaron says, which Andrew supposes is supposed to be touching.

“You're staying,” Dan tells him. “We can't all go anyway. We need people here to greet the new Foxes. Nicky, you can stay back with Aaron. Matt—”

“I am not sitting another one out,” Matt says. 

Dan's mouth opens and then closes again. 

“Nicky,” she says. “If you need to, will you be able to—”

He couldn't. They all know it. 

“I could knock him out,” Nicky says. 

He could, probably. Nicky slacks off on weights sometimes, but he's still strong. 

“I will stay,” Renee says from somewhere behind Andrew. 

Dan pauses. “Are you sure?” 

If he got to choose, Andrew would bring Renee with him over all the rest of the Foxes every time. But maybe she should stay. He doubts anyone else would kill Aaron if they had to.

“Yes,” Renee says. “You go get Neil. I will be here.”

*

Andrew has coping mechanisms for flying.

He is supposed to go to his happy place, except that Andrew doesn't have a happy place. He has calm places. He has less-scary-than-this places. Safe places. But happy?

He closes his eyes, clenches his jaw, and pictures himself on the roof. His ears popping are just the wind, he tells himself. The rushing sound of the plane taking off is just cars down below. That isn't an airplane seat against the back of his head, it's Neil's hands, curling into his hair.

He sits up straighter, so the headrest isn't touching him. Neil is not supposed to be in Andrew's happy place. 

Next to him, Kevin says, “You okay?”

Andrew doesn't say anything, just spins a pen in his hands and tries to put himself back on the roof. 

“Aaron was trying to save you,” Kevin says.

Andrew hates it when Kevin puts on his nice voice. It sounds so wrong on him, like those hedgehogs people keep as pets. 

“He was desperate to get us out of there,” Kevin says. “Even me.”

Andrew considers stabbing Kevin in his unmangled hand, just so he has a matching set. Kevin must see this murderousness on Andrew's face, because he finally shuts up and sits back. 

The leather of the seat is too soft. Andrew isn't used to it. Nothing about Fox Tower is soft—even the couches are meant for college dorms, too tough, cheap. He is used to sitting on the ledge, cement digging through his pants into the backs of his thighs, Neil pressing against him to share a cigarette. Or that same cement against his knees, hands holding Neil's wrists together above Neil's head. It must have hurt more for Neil, but Neil never complained, just kissed Andrew back. Took the first opportunity to touch when Andrew granted it to him, then stopped as soon as Andrew told him to. Asked Andrew about his scars.

No. Redirect. The last time he felt safe.

It was before he kissed Neil, right before, when they were at the party after Kengo's death. Nicky kept saying how morbid it was to be celebrating someone's death. Dan was laughing, Matt's arm slung around her waist. Andrew noticed it because Dan never laughs anymore, and also because he was pointedly not looking at Neil, who was staring at him.

Maybe that isn't right. The last time he felt safe was lying in bed the day they kidnapped Jean. It was silent in his room for once, and it wasn't properly dark, but it stayed quiet and warm the entire time Andrew slept. 

It was like a hard reset. Neil kept everyone out, and Andrew slept, and when he woke up he was himself again, mostly.

He needs to go back further. All his memories from the last year are tied up with Neil, and Neil is the last thing Andrew wants to think about. 

Well. Second to last. He slams the window next to him shut, startling Kevin.

“Tell me more about the Butcher,” Andrew says. 

“You do not want to know.”

“If you do not tell me,” Andrew says, “then you are of no use to me, and I will kill you.”

“You're bluffing,” Kevin says, but he doesn't seem to want to take the chance, because he adds, “The Butcher is brutal. His people do the Moriyamas' dirty work. They have killed almost all the whistleblowers, and they do not do it humanely.”

“What will they do to Neil?”

“Kill him,” Kevin says. “And they will make it hurt.”

It doesn't matter if it hurts if Neil is dead. Andrew spins the pen faster. 

Safe. When was the last time he felt safe without Neil there? 

Not at Fox Tower, not with Riko's leash clipped to Kevin's collar. Maybe at their house in Columbia, senior year of high school, or when he still played exy. Everyone in front of him. The goal at his back. People shouting, the good kind of shouts. A helmet. Protective gear. Safety.

The flight is only an hour and a half long. It feels longer, like they're circumnavigating the globe instead of just flying five hundred miles up the coast. 

“We're landing in twenty minutes,” Dan says, coming up to Kevin and Andrew's row. “You should change into this stuff. Special forces gear. We wore it on our mission tonight.”

She drops a pile of clothing into Kevin's lap. 

“There's a bathroom if you need privacy,” she adds. “Glocks and M16s first, don't go for any other weapons unless you want to blow your covers.”

When they land, it's at the airport in Baltimore. Allison is buddies with the air traffic there apparently. Andrew doesn't pay much attention.

Allison has one of the Moriyamas' armored cars waiting for them. Matt glances at Andrew before getting in the driver's seat, and Andrew wedges himself in the back with Allison and Dan, glaring out the tinted windows. 

The Butcher's house is in the suburbs, as close to modest as a McMansion can get, with two black cars in the driveway and tall shrubs surrounding the front yard. It has a chimney. Andrew takes a moment to picture the smoke coming out of it when he personally sets the Butcher's limbs on fire and almost smiles. 

They go around the back to avoid detection for as long as possible. Dan tries the door. “It's locked. Should I shoot the knob out?”

“Anyone know how to pick locks?” Matt says. 

Andrew pushes past him. He doesn't have his lock picking kit with him, but he has a pin and his knives, and it'll have to be enough.

Except that it isn't. His hands are shaking so hard that he can't get the pin where he wants it. It might be adrenaline. It might just be fear, pulsing in the back of his throat, sour, acidic. 

“Move over,” Allison says, taking the pin and one of the knives out of Andrew's hands. She picks the lock much more quickly than he would have, then gets one of her guns out and leads them into the basement, slow, quiet.

It's dark. Matt is the first one to get his phone flashlight on, but there is no one in the basement. 

Andrew thinks the red is a bit much, décor-wise, and then registers a second later that it isn't décor. 

“Fuck,” Matt says under his breath.

“What?” Dan says, and then she sees it, too: blood, lots of it, still bright enough to be new. Puddled in one spot in particular on the floor, then splattered over another. Streaked over the stairs to the ground floor. Too much blood. Andrew isn't a doctor, but his brother wanted to be, and both of them know that a person can only stand to lose a few pints before dying. 

Andrew decides that if Neil dies before Andrew can kill him, Andrew will learn necromancy just so he can kill him again. He decides that if Neil is still alive, he will never call him nothing again. It's a lie. Maybe it wasn't before, but it is now, and Andrew does not lie. 

There are people in the house. That becomes clear when they pause for long enough to listen to it—voices and footsteps. 

“I'm going up,” Dan says. “Stay here. Just in case. Allison, Kevin, whatever happens, don't show your faces.”

She takes the stairs quickly, shoves the door open, has a brief conversation with whoever she finds there, then calls back, “Guys, come up here! They sent us here on cleanup, I can't believe it. They already got the fucker.”

Andrew gets up the stairs before Matt does, but it's a close thing. He is expecting the worst, Neil's body on the floor or just some of his limbs or maybe more blood or maybe Neil alive and grinning at them like this was all some kind of joke.

Instead, there are about a dozen people wearing the same uniforms as them. Special forces, weapons stashed away, leaning on furniture and talking. 

Beyond them is a body. Too tall to be Neil. Too big. Andrew inhales and wonders if it is the first breath he's taken since they got inside the house.

“Ichirou sent you guys here too?” one of them says to Dan. Andrew can barely hear him. “Shit, he must really want this one covered up. I mean, it's one of his top guys, so it makes sense, right? He'll probably pretend he died in fucking Belarus.”

Matt pushes past Andrew. “I thought the Butcher was on Ichirou's side,” he says.

“He was,” the guy says. “You didn't hear it from me, but it was Riko. Some of Ichirou's other guys intercepted his car out of here like an hour ago.”

“It was just him in the car?” Matt says. 

“Nah, him and some of his Ravens.” The guy rolls his eyes—there are rivalries among special forces, and everyone hates the Ravens. At least, that's what the Foxes' intel says. “And—actually, this is pretty hilarious. He had the Butcher's son. Apparently he wanted to trade him for like, Kevin Day or some shit. They're buddies, I guess, Junior and Kevin Day.” 

Andrew doesn't move. Kevin is still downstairs, and if he comes up, all of them are dead. 

“Yeah, Ichirou was pissed 'cause the Butcher is his guy, you know. So I guess he saves poor little Nathaniel and takes his brother home to get punished.”

“You shouldn't be telling us this,” Dan says. “The president won't want it getting out.”

“Look, I'm the biggest Moriyama supporter there is,” the guy says. “But I mean—you see what's happening here, right? This shit is falling apart. He somehow managed to send two teams to do the same job.”

“You know where they went?” Dan says. “Maybe we can call them, get new orders.”

“I don't know,” the guy says. “Evermore? The White House? Who can guess where they do their dirty work, right?”

“Team, let's get back to the vehicle,” Dan says. Her fake military talk would've made Andrew laugh a year ago. “Thanks for your help.”

“No problem,” the guy says. “Hey, you have a phone number? Maybe I can call you sometime.”

“I'm good,” Dan tells him. “Let's go, guys.”

Matt turns around, but Andrew beats him again. He has collected Kevin and gotten back in the car—driver's seat this time—before any of the rest of them are even out of the house.

“What happened?” Kevin says. “Where is he?”

“He's not here,” Dan says, sitting between Allison and Matt and leaning forward. “Andrew, drive.”

“Where do you think he is?” Matt says. 

“I don't know,” Dan says. “But we're going to find him.”

She doesn't specify whether she means Neil or Ichirou. Maybe she knows that Andrew doesn't care what she thinks. He is only driving toward one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where In The World Is Neil Josten?
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com) | [main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com)). Please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo!


	13. Chapter 13

Everything changed, Andrew will think later, after Kengo's hospitalization. Slowly at first, but then all at once. First the Foxes stole Jean, then the Moriyamas via the Butcher stole Neil, and now Andrew is going to make sure their empire collapses under the sheer weight of his fury.

It's wanting again. That's what gets you, isn't it? The wanting? Because he wants right now, so badly that it's definitely going to kill him this time, carves him open and leaves him bare, wants Neil to be here, wants Neil to be safe—and lurking underneath all of that, or maybe layered over it like a body bag, is how badly Andrew wants to kill Neil for all of this, for the questions and the shared cigarettes and for kissing Andrew on the roof and keeping his hands obediently to himself. 

He is driving.

The distance between the Butcher's house in the suburbs and Washington, D.C. is forty-nine miles. Andrew has sped through the first twenty when Allison gets a phone call.

“It's Ichirou,” she says. Andrew can see that she is trying to make eye contact with him in the rearview mirror. He ignores her. “Should I answer?”

“He's the president,” Dan says, glancing up from the burner phone she's been using to update Britt on their location. “At least for now. You have to.”

Allison picks up. “Hello, Mr. President.” 

Andrew keeps driving. If he just focuses on driving, he won't be able to think about the way his nerves are fraying, the way he can't close his hands around the steering wheel properly, how tightly his fingers want to clench. 

“They're doing really well, thanks, how have you—oh, yes, of course. I was sorry I couldn't be there. The service looked—yes.” A long pause, and then: “Yeah. How—yes, sir. No, I'm just outside of D.C. Where—yes, sir. Okay. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” 

She hangs up.

“He knows,” she says. “He's known about Neil since Halloween. He's known about me since the Seth video.”

“You're kidding,” Matt says. “Andrew, pull over, Allison can't go into the city.”

“I have to,” she says. “He wants to meet with me about Riko's coup.”

Andrew wasn't going to stop anyway. She can barrel roll out of the car if she wants to, but he isn't slowing down.

“How does he know about that?” Kevin says. 

“I told him,” Allison says. “Right after Riko told me. I knew the coup wouldn't work, and I had to stay on Ichirou's good side, so—”

“He knows everything,” Kevin says. “He knows everything, and we are driving right into Washington anyway.”

“He doesn't know everything,” Dan says. “He doesn't know about Jean.”

“He will know about Jean when the video posts in ten minutes,” Kevin says. “I'm not going to meet him.”

“What if you do?” Dan says. “Enemy of my enemy, right? Maybe he'll think of you as a friend.”

Kevin clenches and unclenches his left hand. It was Riko who destroyed it, not Ichirou, so Andrew doesn't understand the significance until Kevin says, “He is personally responsible for all of this.” He gestures with the other hand to all of them, Andrew and Dan and Matt. “He is not my friend.” 

“You just have to fake it for an hour,” Matt says. “You're good at that. You can handle it.”

“Maybe,” Kevin allows. 

Andrew drives faster.

*

The White House is a gaudy building, Andrew thinks. Greek columns transposed onto American lawn culture, complete with over-curated roses and those miniature trees. It doesn't make any sense.

Allison walks in like she lives there, flashing a pass at security and getting all the other Foxes in behind her. It seems too easy, but Ichirou is expecting at least Allison, so maybe it isn't.

They split up as soon as they get past the front lobby. The plan is for Allison and Kevin to talk to Ichirou and Andrew, Matt, and Dan to find Neil. Andrew doesn't like leaving Kevin, especially not with Ichirou, but Kevin insisted. 

Andrew ignores the fact that the last time he let someone out of one of his deals, it took all of two weeks for that someone to disappear. But Kevin insisted, and Kevin never insists. 

Stronger than he thinks he is. That's what Neil said. Maybe Kevin is stronger than Andrew thinks he is, too.

In any case, Andrew can't focus on Kevin right now. Andrew almost killed Kevin hours ago, and he'd do it again. His sole priority is finding Neil. Single-minded. Hyper-focused. He will find him.

“We should split up,” Dan says. “We'll cover more ground that way. I think we should be taking video of anything we can use—”

Andrew doesn't hear her. He has already taken a sharp turn and gone off in search of Neil. He'll be faster alone. 

The White House is crawling with security. Andrew is still in that special forces uniform, so he passes by without detection, even when he tries to get into rooms he definitely is not supposed to be inside of. 

It takes him the better part of an hour to search the rooms he can access without security codes. He finds nothing.

But then he reaches a corner office with a guard posted in front of it. For maybe the first time in his life, Andrew gets lucky—the guard is looking in the opposite direction, and Andrew gets close enough to get the first hit before the guy knows Andrew is even there.

“ _Ah_ , fuck, what the—” the guy says, going for one of his guns, but then Andrew knocks him out. Maybe he kills him. He isn't paying attention. There is something that is meant to be guarded in this room, and Andrew needs to get at it. 

There is a giant camera staring him in the face. Andrew doesn't care. The door isn't locked, and he opens it without knocking.

It's an office, a nice one. There is only one person in it, and it isn't the person Andrew needs to see, but it is someone who can help him find that person.

“Vice-President Moriyama,” Andrew says. 

“It's President now,” Ichirou says. “I was sworn in yesterday.” 

Andrew has his Glock, his M16, and six knives on his person. He has a grenade, spare ammo, and more knives in his bag. 

Ichirou has a flag pin.

Andrew says, “Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you.”

Ichirou stands up and raises both his hands. Appeasement, a poor attempt. 

“Who are you?”

“Andrew Minyard,” Andrew says. 

“Ah, yes,” Ichirou says. “I've heard of you. A pleasure.”

“You are not convincing me.”

Ichirou arches an eyebrow. “Kill me, then, Andrew. But if you do, no one will be protecting Nathaniel anymore.”

Nathaniel. It's an ugly name. “You are not protecting him,” Andrew says.

“Of course I am,” Ichirou says. “Why else would Riko not kill him?” He doesn't wait for Andrew to respond. “Nathaniel's father lost his life out of loyalty to me. Out of loyalty to him, I saved his son from my brother, and now his son is going to work for me.”

“Neil would not,” Andrew says. 

“He would,” Ichirou says. “It didn't take much to convince him. I told him your merry little band would be safe, and he agreed to join in our administration's public diplomacy efforts. He's done such a great job with propaganda so far—it is only natural that he use those skills for a worthier cause.”

“I want to see him,” Andrew says. 

“You've just threatened my life.” Ichirou examines his fingernails. “You expect a favor?”

“Did Neil tell you about the Nittany Lions?” Andrew says.

“The what?” 

“I will. In exchange for twenty minutes with Neil.” 

“We have eyes everywhere. I do not need to make this bargain with you.”

“If you don't know, then you do.” 

Ichirou eyes Andrew, and then he smiles. “I get it,” he says. “I was just heading over to see Nathaniel, actually.” He glances at his watch. “Your friends must have found him by now.”

Andrew opens his mouth, then closes it again. Ichirou knew they were here. The easy passage, the luck—it was all orchestrated. For what? Information? Some sick game?

“Let's go,” Ichirou says.

He leads Andrew out of the room, shoving the unconscious body in front of his door aside with one shiny black shoe, and doesn't look to make sure that Andrew is following.

It's a strange walk. Later, Andrew will imagine that it's there somewhere in his memory, that if he tries, he'll remember walking past windows and portraits, or the feel of his fingers, tight around the grip of his gun. But in the moment and immediately after, it's like he walks out of one office and is suddenly in another, as if via magic or teleportation.

But it isn't Neil in the office. It's Kevin and Allison, sitting next to each other on a couch, stiff, disarmed. 

“Allison,” Ichirou says, smiling. “It's so good to see you. We missed you at the memorial yesterday. Your father said you were feeling under the weather.”

“He doesn't know anything about this,” Allison says. “He'd kill me himself if he knew.”

“Don't worry,” Ichirou says. “You have actually helped me. Without your treachery, Riko might have continued to be—” He pauses, as if choosing his words very carefully. “ _Corrosive_. To the administration.” A little smile. “Thanks to you, Allison, we've disposed of him. His death will be announced later today. A tragedy.” He pauses, looks back at Andrew. “Suicide. He couldn't handle our father's passing or his best friend Jean's betrayal.”

Andrew has had enough. “If you do not take me to Neil—”

Ichirou cuts him off: “Relax. Nathaniel is fine.” 

Andrew isn't interested. He knows what it means when Neil claims to be fine. He has two guns and six knives on his person, and it's the Glock he draws now.

“Andrew—” Kevin says, but Andrew isn't listening.

“We have a deal,” Andrew says. “Hold up your end, or I will kill you and find Neil myself.”

“He'll be here in just a minute,” Ichirou says. “Why don't you have a seat?”

He doesn't wait to see if Andrew will do it, just turns to Allison and Kevin and starts talking. Andrew should listen. He knows he should listen. But the only thing he can focus on is the feeling of rubber and metal in his right hand, steady, reliable; the thrumming of his own heart in his ears, a waltz; the memory of that blood on the floor in the Butcher's basement, red, sticky, wet—

Kevin is talking, too. A girl's voice—Allison, it must be. They must be making a deal. That's why they're here. That's why Ichirou is here, in the White House, all his fucking deals. Andrew should listen.

Instead, he lights a cigarette to give himself something to do with his hands. Ichirou doesn't bat an eyelash. This is not the reaction Andrew usually elicits.

He doesn't know what to do. He hates that he can't control any of the possible outcomes, that he just has to wait and see. 

The door opens. Andrew doesn't look; he isn't going to take his eyes off this snake in politician's clothing. 

“I found them,” a voice says, and something in Andrew's chest soars. He turns around.

_Neil._

Andrew doesn't know how he gets to Neil. In his memory, later, it will feel like a beeline, even though it couldn't have been, not with chairs and couches and tables in between them. In the moment, it feels like he flies or maybe teleports again. One moment he is by the desk, and the next he is standing in front of Neil, staring up into a face that he thought he might never see again.

Andrew opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

Neil's face is covered in bandages. Half of one of his eyes is red with blood, like someone elbowed him. He is wearing a suit at least a size too large, and Andrew can imagine that it is much the same there. He reaches up to take the bandages on Neil's face off, assess the damage, and someone says, “Get him away from Nathaniel.”

There's movement behind him, hands on his shoulders. 

“Don't touch him,” Neil snarls, and the hands move away. 

That would be interesting if Andrew could focus on anything except for Neil, half of whose face looks like it's been burned several times over. The other half looks like he got clawed at by Wolverine. The cuts drag below his face, down his jaw, over the line of his throat. Andrew thinks that if they just went a little deeper, they might have killed Neil. Andrew thinks that someone must have tied him to an anchor and thrown him overboard, because if this isn't drowning, he doesn't know what is.

Neil's shirt is stained. Andrew notices that next. His shirt is stained with blood, and the suit must be too big because he is covered in bandages that are not doing their jobs. Neil looks paler than usual, too, blood loss. All that blood on the floor of the basement. 

Andrew's hands start to shake. He wraps one of them around Neil's wrist in an effort to stop it. Neil's pulse is racing—or actually, maybe it's Andrew's. What is it they say about pulses—you can't check someone's with your own thumb, you'll get—you'll get confused, and then—

He can't focus. All of his thoughts are coming through fragmented. The only thing that matters is Neil sitting in front of him, injured and wearing that ugly suit, but thankfully, terribly, horrifically _whole_ , because Neil Josten is made of fucking steel. That thing—that thing about iron and brittleness and rusting, it might as well have been written about Andrew, and Neil is steel dragging Andrew forward. Or Andrew is a magnet. Or Neil is. One of them is a magnet, and the other is some kind of metal—fucking metaphors again, _fuck_ —

“Are you finished?” someone says, the same person from earlier. “We'll need to get your friends out of here before a journalist catches them. You know, you—what did you call yourselves? Foxes—you've really taken apart the trust the media had in us.”

“They never should have trusted you in the first place,” Neil says.

“That's no way to talk to your beloved president, Nathaniel. Not when you're joining my public diplomacy team.”

“Neil—” Kevin says, but he stops before he can say anything else.

“You have to leave,” Neil says. He's talking to Andrew, but he's talking to Dan and Matt also. When did they get here? “You need to go back to Fox Tower. Get everyone out. You're getting your names cleared, so you'll be able to rejoin society.”

“What?” Dan says. “No, we're—” 

“We can't take them down, Dan,” Neil says. “It's not going to work. The three of you need to go back.” 

Neil scrapes a bandaged finger against Andrew's neck. “You, too. I'll see you soon.”

“I am not leaving,” Andrew says.

“You have to,” Neil says. “Everyone knows you're resistance. If you get caught, our plan gets fucked up.”

“What plan?”

“The plan to discredit Riko,” Neil says. “The plan to make sure Ichirou stays in power forever. It starts tonight.” 

“Forever,” Matt echoes. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Andrew thinks it looks a little insincere. Matt has never been a very good actor. 

“Go,” Neil says. 

“Neil—” Dan says.

“It's Nathaniel,” Neil says, cold enough that Dan blinks in shock. “Get out.”

“What about Allison?” Dan says. “We're not leaving her, either. Or Kevin.”

“Kevin will assist in the special elections, which are set to take place next week, and with the bump we'll get from apprehending Riko—thanks for those videos, by the way, they've done most of my work for me—we are sure to win. And if we don't, well.” Ichirou smiles a little. “All good things must come to an end, no? Besides, the president isn't the only person who wields power, and I still have the Moriyama fortune.”

“You're saying if you lose, you'll just do it all again,” Dan says. “Kevin, you didn't just agree to that.”

Kevin's jaw twitches. 

“Kevin knows that there is no better place to be than in my good graces,” Ichirou says. 

“Kevin—” Matt says. 

“And Allison has agreed that ridding the world of Riko should be our top priority,” Ichirou says. “We've known each other for so long. It really would be a shame if it were me she hated that much.” He smiles. “Time to go home, I think.”

“I am not leaving,” Andrew tells Neil in German. 

“You have to,” Neil says. 

“Not without you.” 

“I'll meet you in Palmetto,” Neil says. “After this is over. A week, maybe two. Tops.”

“He doesn't need me to leave,” Andrew says.

“He doesn't want you here,” Neil says. “He thinks you make Kevin strong.”

Ichirou is wrong. Neil makes Kevin strong. 

“Clever, Nathaniel,” Ichirou says. The smile he levels at Neil is half indulgent, half venomous. Andrew's hand twitches. “Say goodbye to your friends.” 

“Bye,” Neil says, in English. “Andrew. Trust me.” 

Andrew thinks that the last time he trusted Neil, all of this happened. His control is fraying—frayed—but he has enough of it left to look at Dan and Matt, who seem to be waiting on his signal.

“We're going,” Andrew says, and leads them out.

*

Walking away from Neil feels like dying. Andrew would know.

Still: Neil told Andrew to trust him, and Neil might have a martyr streak, but it's not _that_ kind of martyrdom. Neil is obsessed with survival. He'd sacrifice everything to stay alive. He wouldn't give up his own life to save all of them. He wouldn't. Or he might, but he wouldn't lie to Andrew about it.

Andrew thinks, yes he would, and turns around.

“No, keep going,” Matt says. “Trust Neil.”

Matt was lying earlier, in Ichirou's office. Andrew doesn't know why, but clearly Matt knows something Andrew doesn't, and it drives Andrew insane that it must be something about Neil. If this entire building weren't definitely bugged, Andrew would strangle it out of him. As it is, he barely resists.

He turns back around, and they almost make it to the elevator before the alarm goes off. 

Thirty seconds later, a voice comes over the PA: “The White House is on lockdown. No one is to enter or leave until lockdown is over. Do not leave your offices. If you are in the hallway, go into a room. Stay there until you hear our signal.”

“You think we're what they're looking for?” Matt asks.

“Don't know,” Dan says. “Let's get inside before we find out.”

They choose a room at random. It's empty and it has big windows, fancy couches, a coffee table. If Kevin were there he could probably tell them all about it.

“They are not looking for us,” Andrew says. “Ichirou told me. Neil traded his service for our safety.”

That's when Andrew remembers that he never told Ichirou about the Nittany Lions.

“What is it, then?” Matt says, looking around the room and then out the window. “Wait, guys, holy shit. Come look at this.”

Dan rushes to his side, but Andrew takes his time getting there. He is still trying to figure out how he can get Neil and leave even though he knows it's close to impossible now.

Matt is filming something on his phone. That catches Andrew's attention more than anything else did, and he finally slots in next to Dan to see.

It's a protest. Not just a protest—it's a revolt, or else a sad attempt at a coup. Fifty or sixty Nittany Lions pushing against the fence around the White House lawn.

“Shit,” Dan says, pulling her own phone out. “Britt—I told her we'd be in D.C., and she said she'd tell her people to reroute here. I didn't know this is what she meant.”

“Why else would you go to D.C.?” Matt says. He sounds dizzy. “Obviously you'd do it to stage a coup d'etat. Obviously.”

The Nittany Lions Britt sent don't have much with them in terms of weaponry. It doesn't make sense—the Nittany Lions are the best-armed of any of the rebel groups. Half of them are ex-military, and the rest are former engineers. They should have firearms at the very least, but improvised explosives, grenades, even molotov cocktails would make more sense.

Instead, they're throwing rocks.

“She says they couldn't get into the weapons case,” Dan says, frowning at her phone. “She had the keys. They have their personal handguns and some—oh, wait. Britt says they have some kind of mini-grenades? Only some prototypes, they hadn't perfected them yet, but—can you see what they're throwing?”

“It just looks like rocks,” Matt says. “Why aren't they shooting?” 

“I don't know. Saving bullets, maybe?”

“Why did they even come, then?”

“Support,” Dan says. “It must be. If they thought we were going to try a coup, they must've thought we had the firepower necessary, right? They're supposed to be reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements without sufficient weaponry?”

“Or maybe just—” Dan says. 

Andrew doesn't have to look at her to know what shut her up. One moment, the lawn is green; the next, it is filled with police in riot gear. On the other side of the protestors, more of the same, so that the Nittany Lions are swarmed with black-helmeted military.

It's over in just a few minutes. Maybe less, but time has been stretched thin around Andrew ever since Dan's phone call. When the Moriyama people move away, there are just bodies, motionless, like sea glass strewn across the beach.

“Holy shit,” Matt says again. “They killed all of them.”

There are a few black-dressed bodies in the crowd of dead people. Not many, but a few.

A phone is ringing. Bile rushes up the back of Andrew's throat, but he chokes it down when Dan says, “Hi, Britt. No, they're—I'm so sorry, Britt, I—”

She's cut off again. This time, it's by the first of the mini-grenades going off. 

Some of the Moriyama people are right over it. Andrew isn't squeamish, but no one needs to see bodies explode.

The rest of the grenades go off in scattered little bursts, like microwave popcorn. Some of the Moriyama police get away; others don't.

“The grenades are working, at least, even if they're a little delayed” Dan says. Some of the lawn is starting to smolder and burn. “Britt, stay where you are. We'll grab you on our way home, okay? We'll—no, don't—fuck, Britt, we're all supposed to agree before you—” She takes her phone away from her ear and stares at it, then looks up at Matt and Andrew. “She hung up on me.”

“Taking it well, then,” Matt says. “On another note, how the fuck are we going to get out of here?”

“I don't know. The lawn is on fire.” Dan makes a face. “Were they trying to blow up the fence?”

“I hate this,” Matt says. “People are dying for us _again_ , I hate being up here—” He runs both his hands through his hair, mussing the spikes, and then he looks at Andrew. “How are you holding up?”

Andrew turns back toward the window rather than answer. The Moriyama people are putting out some of the fires, but more keep cropping up as the rest of the grenades go off.

“Just trust Neil,” Matt adds. “He knows what he's doing.”

Andrew snaps. He can feel it, his leash coming apart all at once. “What exactly is he doing?”

Matt looks around, then bends close to whisper in Andrew's ear. “He found me first. He sent me video of Ichirou murdering Riko.”

Ichirou is going to kill him. The second the video is out, Neil will be dead. There is no way around it. 

Andrew doesn't realize that he has torn away from Matt until he reaches the door. Dan is standing in front of it, arms crossed.

“I can't let you out,” she says. “It's a lockdown. I'm responsible for keeping you safe.”

“If you don't move, I will kill you,” Andrew says. He hasn't been more certain about anything in his life. They'll attract too much attention if he shoots her, but luckily, Andrew is very good with a knife. He pats himself down for one.

“I'm not moving, and you aren't going to kill me,” Dan says. “You know this is what Neil wants.”

Andrew gets his fingers around the handle of one of his knives at last. “I do not care what—”

“Touch her, and I'll kill you.”

Matt's voice sounds the same as always, but Andrew hasn't ever heard that tone from it. It sounds like—well, like Andrew just sounded, threatening to kill Dan. Certain. Andrew believes beyond any doubt that if he does get his hands on Dan, Matt will do it. Matt is probably the only Fox other than Renee who has a fighting chance. 

“Tell her to move,” Andrew says. 

“Hello, I'm in charge here,” Dan says. “I'm not moving. Neil has a plan. We're letting him execute it.”

“Ichirou will execute _him_ —”

“Neil is in charge of public diplomacy for Ichirou now,” Matt says. “Ichirou isn't going to kill him.”

Andrew can't tell if Matt actually believes that or if he's putting on a brave face for the microphones. All he knows is that he needs to get out of this room, but if he touches Dan, there's a good chance Matt will injure him badly enough that he won't be able to get to Neil. 

The loudspeaker comes back before Andrew can decide what to do. The lockdown is over; they can leave.

Andrew shoves Dan aside and sprints back toward the office Neil was in, except that it's empty now. He searches through the next one, and the next, and all of them—deserted.

“He's okay,” Dan says, blocking Andrew from checking the next room. “Andrew, he's okay, we need to get out of here—”

“Go without me.”

“Neil would kill us.”

“Go without me, or I will.”

“I'm not leaving you here,” Dan says. “Get over yourself. You think you're the only one who cares about Neil? We're trusting him because he knows what's going on better than we do. Come on. Don't make me knock you out.”

Andrew thinks that if he had an ounce less impulse control, Dan would definitely be dead by now. 

“You couldn't,” Andrew says.

“I—wait, don't—” Dan says, and then there's a sharp pinch in the back of his neck, and then blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know there's a lot going on here but i promise it'll resolve itself/start to make sense ....... next week on glee
> 
> sry for the long ass wait / thanks for hanging in there. it's ramadan so my productivity is at an all time low. ironically i am roughly -15% religious but here i am. letting my life be ruined by religion. 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com) | [main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com)). please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about cutting this in half and posting it as I went, but then I thought, fuck it! So you get an extra long chapter and an epilogue all in one. Sorry about the wait loves <3
> 
> head's up: there is gun violence and vague description of torture in this chapter

When they were first preparing for the violence vote, Kevin argued against. His evidence for violence not working was Julius Caesar—the play, not the person.

“The entire point of that play is that Brutus and his co-conspirators kill Caesar to avoid him becoming a king, but it's the normalization of violence from killing him which ultimately erodes the republic. We can't jeopardize our republic like that.”

“Kevin, our republic was jeopardized years ago,” Matt said. “Come on. The Moriyamas owned Congress by the time we were ten years old. They couldn't have done that if it wasn't for—” He looked around at someone. “Citizens United? Right?”

“That isn't the same thing,” Kevin said. “If we take power by violence, it means we're only in power thanks to threat of violence. We have to do it democratically.”

“We don't have the funds for that,” Dan said. “Not to mention the safety—I mean, Jesus, are you going to run for office when you're sure Riko is going to kill you every time you step outside?”

Kevin didn't have a response to that.

*

Andrew comes to in an airplane.

His first instinct is to murder the pilot and take control of the flight himself, except that he doesn't know how to fly a plane.

His second instinct is to murder everyone on the plane except the pilot and force him to fly them back to D.C.

His third instinct—the one he goes with—is to say, “Explain.”

“Fuck, I'm sorry,” Dan says from across the aisle. “That was Allison. She said it was for your own good, but I know you wouldn't have wanted—”

“You don't know anything,” Andrew says. He glares at the shuttered window next to his elbow. “Check the news.”

“Nothing,” Dan says. “Allison texted me. She said me and Matt's phones are probably being tracked now that they've been looked at by White House security, so we'll need to switch to burners.”

Does he look like he cares about fucking phones? 

“They're all fine,” she adds. “Neil is busy smoothing things over for the president. He helped him write a speech, you can totally tell it's him too, it's—”

“When do we arrive?”

“Thirty minutes,” Dan says. “Andrew, I really am—”

“Stop talking,” Andrew says, and pushes the window cover up to glare out.

Five miles high. Still nothing.

*

Andrew's phone rings as soon as they land. His hasn't gone through any sort of security, so he answers it.

“It's me,” Neil says. “You're in Palmetto?”

“You're still alive.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No,” Andrew says. “But I will be if it lasts.”

Neil doesn't say anything for almost an entire minute. “I'm coming to South Carolina with some of President Moriyama's men tomorrow,” he says. “We're going to help you guys resettle in Columbia.”

“You should have come with us, then.”

Another long pause. “If you tell me not to come, I won't.”

Andrew isn't stupid. He knows what Neil is asking.

“If you don't come, I'll fly back to D.C. and kill you myself.”

Neil's laugh is quiet. “I heard you almost stabbed Dan.”

“I almost stab you every day and no one spreads rumors about that.”

“I'm sorry about Allison. She shouldn't have knocked you out,” Neil says. “She was right, though. You're safer in South Carolina.” 

“My safety is not your concern.”

“Has to be someone's.”

“No, it doesn't.”

“Just hold tight,” Neil says. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

*

Neil's arrival the next afternoon is the first time Andrew leaves his room since getting to Palmetto.

Neil looks exhausted. He is never going to heal if he doesn't get any rest. Andrew almost tells him that when they all end up gathered in the kitchen, complete with new Foxes. Britt is in a room by herself upstairs and refuses to come down. Jean's room. Andrew's old room.

“We're working on reintegrating all of you into society,” one of the people Neil has with him says. “For those of you whose names Nathaniel knows, you're officially in the clear. Your records have been sealed. We have apartments for all of you in Columbia if you're interested. The rest of you, it'll take us a couple of days since we don't know you all—”

“What if we don't want to tell you our names?” one of the new kids says. “Just because _he_ says it's okay—I haven't heard about listing getting outlawed, have you?”

“This is specific to the Foxes,” the guy in charge says. “It's a favor from President Moriyama.”

“The president is doing _you_ favors?” New Kid says, sneering at Neil. “You must be important.”

Neil stares back at New Kid coolly. “I am.”

The guy in charge looks a little annoyed. “We also have some career services for all of you to make the process as smooth as possible. As I'm sure you know, Columbia has a booming start up scene, and—”

Andrew stops listening. He refocuses on Neil, who is typing something on his new phone.

He is still taped up. His suit fits better today, though, and there is no evidence that he's still bleeding through his bandages. He's wearing a flag pin. Andrew almost gags.

“There's one more thing,” Neil says when the guy in charge stops talking. “Kevin is going to be on Kathy Ferdinand's show tonight.”

“What?” Aaron says. It's the first thing Andrew has heard him say in days.

“Yeah, I'm heading to Raleigh after this. Kevin requested that Andrew come hang out backstage.”

Kevin likely stopped being so gutsy once he figured out that Ichirou is even less invested in keeping him alive than Riko was. Makes sense.

“It'll be good,” Neil says, making eye contact with Matt. “It'll be really good publicity for Kevin to come back to the Moriyamas now since he and Riko were like brothers. The interview will be broadcast live tonight as a response to everything that's been going on.”

“What time?” Matt says, and if Andrew didn't know him, his tone would sound casual. 

“Eight-thirty,” Neil says. “Andrew, we leave in an hour if you're interested.”

Andrew isn't interested in anything except how Neil learned to use such coded language.

He leaves anyway to get ready.

*

Four guns, twelve knives, a dark blue suit that's too tight at the shoulders (Aaron's, appropriated without his knowledge), and a half hour later, Andrew sits on the roof for a jittery cigarette.

He isn't surprised when Neil joins him, or when Neil steals his cigarette, or when Neil says, “So you're coming.”

“Obviously.”

Neil cups the cigarette in his hands, letting it burn up, and doesn't say anything.

“Are we supposed to call you Nathaniel now?” Andrew hates the way his voice sounds, petulant, childlike. 

Neil doesn't respond, and when Andrew looks around at him, Andrew almost tumbles right off the ledge. He hasn't seen that look on Neil's face before, wide open and torn apart, like Andrew could with one word destroy him. What is that thing about fairies—you have power over them if you use their real names? 

“I guess so.”

“It doesn't suit you.”

Neil's expression doesn't change. Andrew is unused to it—usually Neil won't shut up.

“What is your angle with Kathy Ferdinand?” Andrew says. “Matt told me about the video.”

Neil looks around them, then takes the battery out of the back of his phone and sets it aside. He doesn't wait for Andrew to do the same, just leans close and says, “Kevin is announcing a presidential run. Matt is highjacking the broadcast for Riko's murder video and the Nittany Lion protest video. Ichirou is going down tonight.”

“You planned this?”

“We sort of made it up as we went.”

Andrew hates this, not having any control, being subject to the whims of the Moriyamas and the Foxes and Neil fucking Josten. He lights another cigarette.

“Now you know what you're in for,” Neil says. “You still coming?”

“Kevin still needs a guard dog.”

“That was just an excuse,” Neil says. “I mean, yeah, he does, but—I don't want to spend any more time than I have to away from you.”

Andrew exhales, all smoke, then does it again for good measure. “Stop talking.” He wraps a hand around the back of Neil's neck to bring him closer. “Yes or no?”

“Thought you told me to stop talking,” Neil says, and then a moment's pause during which his face looks wide open again. “Yes.” 

Andrew kisses him. He has a hard time keeping his own desperation out of it. The last few days of his life have left him feeling like he's barely treading water in the middle of the ocean, or like he's watching a movie where most of the important events take place off screen. He has no idea what Neil is planning or if it's going to work. The world is spinning out of his control, and for someone who has spent most of his life grasping for and then cautiously keeping hold of control of himself and everyone around him, it should be devastating.

Still: he knows, if nothing else, Neil. Neil might be a liar by habit, but he's honest by nature and honest here.

Neil's fingers are honest, too, as are his lips against Andrew's throat, soft and wet, and how easily he lets Andrew push him down, even in his nice suit, even injured.

Injured.

Andrew backs off him.

“What's wrong?” Neil says. 

Andrew slides his hands inside Neil's jacket to take it off. Neil's shirt is clean, but Andrew undoes the tie and unbuttons it anyway. 

His chest is mostly okay except for one long bandage. Andrew starts peeling it back, and Neil inhales sharply, then laughs under his breath.

“I thought—” he says, then: “I'm fine.”

“Say that again and I will kill you.”

Andrew doesn't check to see if Neil believes him, only waits for Neil to relax and then takes off the bandage.

It was covering a shallow cut that spans from Neil's shoulder to just above his hipbone. It almost makes Andrew gag—someone must have wanted to cut Neil in half—but he resists and presses the tape back down over it.

Neil's arms are much worse. Both his hands are wrapped, and under the bandages, the spaces between his fingers have been sliced and his knuckles have been burned. His hands and arms are covered in burns and cuts, crisscrossing and overlapping, like the Butcher or his people were scoring meat. 

They have stopped bleeding, mostly, but the bandages are all red already. Andrew replaces them, carefully rewraps Neil's knuckles, and then looks into Neil's face. He ignores—for now—how intently Neil avoids looking down at his own hands.

“I was going to tell you,” Neil says.

“Liar.”

“I was,” Neil says. “I wanted to tell you everything. I just thought—if my father found out about you—he's not above using the people his enemies care about. And I knew you would've tried to kill him.”

“He is dead,” Andrew says. He saw the body, tall, greying auburn hair like Neil's, shock frozen on his face. “You can't still think he is immortal.”

“Maybe not, but even you can't take on the Butcher of Baltimore and the people he has around him all the time.”

He would. He would have. Every last one of them. “I want an explanation.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“Give me someplace to start.”

The last time Andrew had his eyes on Neil before everything fell apart. The day of Kengo's memorial ceremony, just before everyone left and Andrew went to the room with the security footage with Kevin. They were in Neil's room, not kissing or even touching, just talking. Trading truths. Or not trading—just sharing them. Andrew can't remember when it stopped being transactional. 

“My phone alarm went off in your room,” Andrew says.

“Right. The reminder.” Neil leans forward, rests his injured forearms on his knees. “I was just going to go for a run. This car pulled up—not the same one that hit me, but that was my dad's people, too, they were giving me a warning. They saw the propaganda video, and—but yeah, it was them in this car, too, and they just shoved me in and drove. They said my dad missed me.” 

Neil's voice sounds raw. Andrew doesn't know how he didn't notice it before. It's the way someone's voice sounds when they've spent too much time screaming, like after a concert: his words crack around the edges; his voice breaks. Andrew should tell him that he doesn't have to go on. 

“They took my phone, and then they drove me somewhere—I don't know where—and we got on a plane. They did this to me.” He indicates his bandaged arms. “We end up in Baltimore, obviously, in my dad's basement, and—I was there for maybe an hour or two, I don't know, it could've been less. My father was going to kill me, but he wanted to make it slow. He wanted to—” Neil hugs his knees to his chest even though it must hurt. “He said he wanted to kneecap me so I couldn't run from him again, and then of all people, right on the fucking nick of time, _Riko Moriyama_ saves my life. He just showed up. He was pissed my father didn't side with him, so he had a whole gang of Ravens with him, and they just—shot him.” 

He stops, and Andrew nearly makes the mistake of thinking that Neil is mourning his father. When he looks closer, Neil is smiling. Neil pushes his fingers into his face as if he can wipe the expression off with physical force.

“He just died, just like that,” Neil says. “So the Ravens arrest the rest of my dad's people, I steal my phone off one of them, and Riko throws me in his car. He said he was going to use me to get Kevin, and then he just started driving. I don't know where we were going, West Virginia maybe? But Ichirou caught us, the Ravens ditched Riko, and Ichirou took us to the White House.”

“And killed his brother,” Andrew says.

“Tetsuji Moriyama was there,” Neil says. “Tetsuji, me, Riko, and Ichirou. That's it. Ichirou just shot Riko right in the mouth. He didn't even look sad about it.”

Neither does Neil. He's lucky—all his enemies are killing each other off for him.

“And he didn't even notice that I had my phone,” Neil says. “I have video of the president killing his brother in cold blood. Riko didn't even resist, he just sat there. It seems too easy.”

Andrew stares at him. Neil looks like a fucking mummy, and he thinks this was too easy.

“Ichirou said that he'd saved me from Riko because my father meant something to him,” Neil says. “I didn't even know they knew each other. I was supposed to be a Raven, I guess, that's how Kevin and I know each other—I had a physical with them before my mum ran away with me. So Ichirou has the mindset that I belong to him, and he and my dad were—friends, I guess, so he made me a deal: if I can make him videos that generate the same kind of buzz as the ones we made for the Foxes, he'll let all of you go free.”

“You do not believe him.”

“I believe he won't kill you,” Neil says. “That was my priority.”

“Allison said he's known about you since Halloween.”

“He has,” Neil says. “He left us alone because our videos were doing more damage to Riko than to him, and he didn't want—” Neil smiles again. “He didn't want to deal with me without my dad there.” Andrew gets why Neil thinks this is funny. It's like high school—calling your parents. “He was waiting for him to get back to the States, and then when he did, Ichirou took Riko's source—your brother—and gave him to the Butcher's people.”

Andrew wants to say something, but he can't think what. Something is twisting in the back of his throat, irritation at himself, maybe, that he didn't protect Neil. He is looking at evidence of his failure. Neil said the deal was off, but that doesn't mean this wasn't Andrew's responsibility. He should've found the leak earlier. It was stupid to not even consider his brother: in hindsight, it seems obvious.

He was supposed to take care of Neil, and he didn't. 

“Kathy's show is going to be a perfect storm,” Neil continues. “Kevin says she cares more about ratings and viewers than the administration, so she won't go off air when Matt's interruptions happen. She'll milk it. Kevin announces a presidential election next month even though Ichirou hasn't agreed to one. Then he gets to talk about the importance of freedom in democracy while we see evidence of the Moriyamas representing anything but, and then he announces that he's running.”

“He isn't old enough.”

“Every article of the Constitution relating to what the president can or cannot do or be has been suspended for years,” Neil says. “If Ichirou's old enough, so is Kevin.”

He looks exhausted, Andrew thinks. Exhausted from being Nathaniel, from working for Ichirou, from trying to singlehandedly take him down. It's only been a day.

“Ichirou is going to kill you.”

“We broke our deal, so it shouldn't matter to you,” Neil says. “And anyway, you told me my life would be in my hands again after a year. We're less than a month away from that. It doesn't make a difference.”

“You are just accepting death.” And he expects Andrew to accept it, too.

Neil shrugs. “I never really thought I'd get to live this out. Now it's possible that maybe I do, if everything goes according to plan and Ichirou is too scared of the political consequences to touch me.”

It's not impossible, Andrew supposes, but still less likely than Neil getting himself killed doing something reckless. For someone so convinced he wants to survive, Neil sure is fucking stupid. 

“I'm sorry,” Neil says, and Andrew is flooded with hate on so many different levels that he has to look away. “I wish I could stay Neil.”

Andrew stands up and leaves for the parking lot. He doesn't check to see if Neil is following him, but when he gets downstairs, Neil is on his heels, suit and bandages smoothed down. 

Other than the injuries, he looks exactly like what he is supposed to be. Ichirou's puppet, down to the pin on his lapel.

*

They drive to Raleigh in an armored SUV. Neil, Kevin, and Andrew sit in the middle row with Moriyama men in the front and the back. The ones in the front are driving and discussing directions—“You're sure it's not 601?” “No, you can just take I-95 all the way up”—while the ones in back are coaching Kevin.

“You're going to want to sound happy,” one of them says. “Like this is a big win for you.”

“Right,” Neil says. “Riko was the tumor, and it's been excised, so what's left is a healthy government.” 

The words sound like they've been put in his mouth by someone else. Neil definitely doesn't know what “excise” means. 

“Just smile,” the other Moriyama guy says. “You and Kathy go way back. She likes you, you like her. It'll be like talking to an old friend.”

Kevin takes a swig from the water bottle Neil brought him and winces a little like it burned going down. Of course. He might be the New and Improved Kevin Day, but he didn't suddenly get brave enough to defy the entire government overnight. Not without liquid courage.

“Exactly,” Neil says. “Just pretend you're talking to me.” 

He doesn't even pretend to smile. Andrew wonders how anyone in this car can possibly be fooled by him. Andrew isn't. 

“Listen, Andrew, when we get there, you're going to stay backstage with Nathaniel,” one of the suits says. “Under no circumstances are you to get on the stage, okay? I don't care if World War Four kicks off—you stay put. The president doesn't want you and Kevin together, and Nathaniel already had to cash in a few favors to pull this off, so you need to do what you're told.”

Andrew doesn't even look at him. Neither does Neil, whose leg is warm against Andrew's thigh and who seems to focusing completely on the bullshit media training he's doing with Kevin. 

“Just remember,” Neil says. “Speak from the heart.”

Andrew wants to gag.

*

Kathy's studio is on a massive lot in Raleigh, which, despite its manicured gardens, can't hide the fact that it really is just a studio lot.

Still, at least the roses add color. They remind Andrew of the ones outside the White House, and he can't tell if that's a good thing or not. 

He follows Neil into the green room, watches as Kevin gets makeup patted onto his face, and eventually settles, stiff, next to Neil on the couch.

“I need you two to come with me,” Kevin says.

“The president says—” Neil starts, but Kevin shakes his head. 

He can barely stand up straight, which confirms Andrew's suspicions about the water bottle. “Don't get on the stage, just stand off it.”

“Kevin,” Neil says. “You're going to do great.”

“Neil—” Odd that Kevin still calls him that. Sheer rejection of Ichirou wouldn't have been this easy for him a few months ago.

“Fine,” Andrew interrupts. Neil looks at him. “We will stand just off stage.”

“Okay,” Neil says. “Just don't look at us.”

“Kevin!” someone says, a stagehand or whatever, some intern on Kathy Ferdinand's staff. “Thirty seconds.”

Kevin's walk to the stage reminds Andrew of video he's seen of death row inmates making their way to the electric chair. He will probably survive it—the Moriyamas don't stand a chance of retaking any seats if they start killing off their very public political dissidents—but he looks ill anyway.

Neil hovers next to Andrew, close enough that they could bump arms. 

Kevin's face transforms the moment he steps onto the stage. He hugs Kathy, kisses her cheek, beams at the audience. She starts off asking inoffensive questions, and then the stage wing they're on floods with people. 

It must be the first video. Andrew glances up at a TV feed to confirm, and sure enough, the reception is scrambled. A moment later, Britt's face pops up on the screen. Andrew doesn't know when this video was made, or by whom, but they took full advantage of Britt's appearance, pissed off and exhausted, her voice almost breaking.

“These are my friends,” her voiceover says. “All they asked for is the chance to vote for who would lead their country, and this is what they got.” 

The video switches from the protest to the riot geared police, who swamp the protestors. Like in real life, it takes barely any time for them to go from chaos to stillness. 

The audience in Kathy's studio is dead silent. Most of them are staring at the screens; a few are holding their phones up to take video. 

Some of the producers and the intern from earlier are on the stage around Kevin and Kathy. Kathy shakes her head, eyes trained on the video. She's smiling, and for a moment she reminds Andrew of Neil on the roof earlier. Ruthless.

“Wow,” Kathy says when the video ends and her face reappears on the screens around the studio. “Kevin, can you say anything about that? Weren't you the one to distribute the original videos that highjacked our feeds?”

“Well, Kathy, the highjacking isn't really the issue here.” Kevin affects a thoughtful expression. “What we see is a clear violation of those protestors' First Amendment right to peaceful assembly.”

“Was that peaceful? They were throwing rocks at the White House.”

“Maybe, but not at any actual people. It's not violent if no one gets hurt, and as we saw, no one got hurt until the Moriyamas' police got involved. That's the problem with all these new changes. We've forgotten our Constitutional rights. I mean, they weren't there for nothing—the Bill of Rights was put into place to prevent our country from becoming a monarchy! And we've let it, down to the firstborn son inheriting.” 

“You think Riko should've inherited the presidency?”

“With all due respect to Riko's memory,” Kevin says, and Neil snorts with very little of the due respect, “I think we should've held an election. I understand that the vice-president becomes president if the president dies, but we haven't had an election since I was a child, and the new President Moriyama never expressed a desire to hold one. The people may have voted for Kengo, but they only did it once, and they never voted for Ichirou at all. That's a problem.”

“Are you suggesting we hold an election?”

“Of course, Kathy.” Kevin smiles at her, his old Raven smile. “Isn't that the point of this great country?”

Andrew almost rolls his eyes. 

“I mean, those protestors gave their lives for it,” Kevin adds. “They died for our democracy.”

“Give me liberty or give me death?” Kathy suggests.

Kevin chuckles. “Exactly.”

“So if not Ichirou, who do you think our new president should be?”

“You know, Kathy, I was hoping you'd ask that.” Kevin's smile looks positively venomous. “You mentioned my role in these videos—I've been working with a great group of people for the last couple of years to expose some of the corruption of the Moriyama administration. It's not just Riko. It isn't right for one family to hold a monopoly over our government, and even before they were in the White House, the Moriyamas had a financial stake in the careers of the majority of Congress. That's why I'm calling on the president to hold a special election to determine the next president of the United States this fall, and that's why I'm running against him.”

Kathy looks briefly shocked and then delighted at this change in schedule. “I thought you were coming on to eulogize Riko, not to shake up the most powerful office in the world.”

“Riko's death was horrible,” Kevin says. “I think we were all shocked to hear of his suicide, especially considering his Ravens said he seemed to have so many plans for the future.”

It's a signal, and Kathy's feeds cut out again. She holds a hand up to her producers this time, and every screen switches to a dark room. Riko in a chair, looking nothing like Andrew has ever seen him, eyes wide and terrified. The angle is bad—obviously it was shot from someone's waist, the camera half-hidden behind some fabric. Neil tried for subtlety for once, Andrew supposes.

“Brother,” Ichirou says. He cradles Riko's cheek in his hand, almost lovingly, and then he shoots Riko in the head. The film cuts out before they can see the results.

Kathy's studio audience gasps. A few people scream. 

“That was very disturbing imagery, Kevin,” Kathy says. “Tell me you aren't the person who had those videos shown to us.”

“Of course not,” Kevin says. “I'm as shocked as you are, Kathy. The president said Riko committed suicide—he appropriated a terrible tragedy so that he could lie about what really happened, which is that he murdered his brother. These are grounds for impeachment at least, but we're not asking for that. We're just asking for a restoration of the democratic process. I mean, it's clear from the video. Ichirou Moriyama isn't fit to be president. It's time to make room for someone who isn't going to murder his own brother in cold blood.”

Andrew feels it before he realizes he's done it. Like Neil, like Kathy, his lips have moved. He is smiling. Neil notices immediately, looks stunned, says, “Kevin fucking Day.”

Kevin fucking Day. Andrew reaches for Neil's tie without thinking about it, twists it in his hand to pull Neil forward. 

Anyone could see them, including Kevin, but Andrew doesn't care. He kisses Neil, and he thinks he has never wanted anything more in his life. Neil's hands curl into Andrew's hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

They might be there for hours, but more likely it's only a couple of minutes, because even as Kevin continues to lecture what must be a terrified audience, Moriyama people start to storm the stage.

It's not clear at first what their plan is. Kathy keeps nodding at her producers, even as the men make for Kevin.

Neil doesn't say anything, but he's right at Andrew's elbow when Andrew runs onto the stage, shoots someone the instant before they shoot Kevin.

“Thought you were no good with a gun,” Andrew says.

“I lied,” Neil replies, and then someone throws an arm around Neil's neck; Andrew only has a moment to think, why is he always _injured_ , before someone is shooting at him, too, and he has to duck behind one of Kathy's couches.

Screams fill the studio, and Andrew doesn't understand where they're coming from until he slices the nearest goon's Achilles. The guy falls; beyond him, the audience bang on the studio's doors in an effort to get out. They must be locked. He, Neil, and Kevin will have to get out a different way.

Speaking of Kevin—is he dead?

Andrew looks around for him, but no, there is Kevin, America's cockroach. He actually seems to be holding his own—hilarious considering Kevin was never very good in a fight that didn't involve him shooting a paper target. Maybe he's learning. 

This tiny distraction costs Andrew: the man whose ankle he cut isn't screaming anymore. Instead, he's reloading his gun a few inches away from Andrew. 

For a fleeting moment, Andrew appreciates that he finally gets to fight for his own life instead of someone else's. Or gets to fight at all instead of having the choice stripped away from him by someone's endless machinations. 

But then Mr. Won't-Be-Able-To-Walk-Anymore aims his gun at Andrew's head.

Andrew shoots him. Only in the arm, so that he drops the gun, but shoots him anyway. The poor guy's entire right side is going to end up useless. Andrew kicks the gun out of the way and looks up just in time to see Neil losing a fight against three people who are much bigger than he is.

Someone shoots one of them, giving Neil a foothold. “We need to get out of here,” Kevin shouts from across the stage.

Well. He decided to be useful for once. 

Andrew rips one of the other people off of Neil, and Neil manages the last person just fine on his own. Neil sways for a moment when they've all gotten off him, and then his knees give out and he drops to the floor.

“Neil?” Kevin says.

Andrew ignores him. The audience is still screaming, there are still people all over the place, and they need to get the fuck out of here even if he has to carry Neil out.

“I'm fine,” Neil says, and then actually laughs, like anything about this is funny. “I can walk.”

“You said your father wanted to kneecap you,” Andrew says. Behind him, Kevin swears. “Did he do anything to your legs?”

Neil shakes his head. “Just more of the same. Burns and cuts. I—”

“Good,” Andrew says, and hauls Neil up, careful to keep his hands away from where Neil's chest is torn open. He must be bleeding again, after all that. Andrew forces himself not to look, just drags Neil forward until Neil regains his footing enough to walk for himself.

“Where are we going?” Neil says.

“There has to be an exit back here,” Kevin says. “Right? Some kind of backdoor—”

Andrew remembers them passing by a door on their way out here. He leads them in that direction, Neil heavy on his lefthand side, Kevin constantly looking over his shoulder. They walk-run down a dark hallway, and Andrew counts how many rounds he has left.

“Stop,” Neil hisses suddenly. Andrew freezes immediately, and next to him Kevin does the same. Neil presses against the wall to look around the corner, then turns back to them. “Someone's there.”

“How many?” Kevin says.

“Just one.”

“Okay, then let's kill him and—”

“It's not a him,” Neil interrupts. Andrew wonders if the sudden ashen expression on Neil's face is only due to the pain. “Ichirou didn't trust me after all. He said she'd be in jail. He said—”

“Neil,” Andrew says. “Look at me. Who is it?”

At first he thinks that Neil is going to say something absurd, like that his mother was alive this whole time and it's her waiting on the other side of that wall. Instead, Neil just shakes his head, wordless, and cocks his gun.

“Junior?” the woman calls. “That you?”

Junior. That was what the man at the Butcher's house called him, too. Neil doesn't seem to like the nickname, or maybe it's just the woman's voice, because he looks like he's about to be sick. 

“You going to shoot me, Junior?” she sing-songs. Her voice is closer now. “I missed you! We didn't get to finish what we started, but there's no Riko to interrupt us this time, is there?” 

She reaches the corner and looks only a little surprised to see them all there, three guns trained on her.

“Friends in high places, huh, Nathaniel?” the woman says. “Betting on Kevin Day was stupid, though. Do you really think the lord will let him get away with any of this?”

“Put it down, Lola,” Neil says. He still looks about an inch away from vomiting all over Andrew. “Put it down and put your hands up.”

Lola puts her gun down and stands back up slowly, hands in the air, still smiling.

“You wouldn't kill me, would you, Junior? Don't you remember when I taught you how to throw knives? Wasn't that fun?”

Neil's hands are trembling. Just a little. She probably can't see. She sounds scared.

Andrew can, though.

“Shoot her, Neil,” he says. 

“Your mom would like him,” Lola says. Less scared now that Neil has let her survive the initial confrontation. “Or she would have. Sorry! I forgot.”

“Neil,” Kevin says.

Andrew switches to German, hoping it will get through to Neil better: “If you do not do it, I will.”

Neil ignores him. 

“What a cute trick,” Lola says. “Can he do any others? Sit! Speak! Roll over!”

“ _Neil_ ,” Kevin says again.

Lola's smile grows, and Andrew knows that look. She thinks Neil isn't going to do it. She thinks she's going to survive this. 

She moves a hand toward her waist, and three guns go off at the same time. Three bullets point blank between the eyebrows. There isn't much of a head left when Andrew glances down. 

Neil is staring at the body in disbelief. 

“Neil,” Kevin says. “Come the fuck _on_ , we need to get out of here—”

Neil looks at his gun. His free hand comes up to rest on the bandaged side of his face as if to check that it's still there.

“She's dead,” he says. 

“We don't have time for this,” Kevin says. “Andrew, get him to move.”

“She's dead,” Andrew says. “You shot her.”

“So did you,” Neil says. “And Kevin.”

He's in shock. Maybe he's been in shock all week. 

“Neil,” Andrew says, and Neil's head jerks up to look at him. 

“Right,” Neil says. “Sorry.” 

He steps over the body and follows Kevin down the hall. Andrew will have to ask about Lola later, but for now, there's no time—they need to get out of this building, steal a car, and drive.

There are no more obstacles or roadblocks. The back door releases them into blissful fresh air. There are sirens coming from the other side of the building, but here, miraculously, are only a few security guards. They're all facing the wrong direction, and it's easy as anything to hit all of them hard enough with the butts of their guns to cause probable concussion and definite knock out. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Kevin says. “I can't believe we're out.”

“Not yet,” Neil says, jimmying the lock of the closest Moriyama car. Andrew climbs into the driver's seat to hot-wire it, and Neil angles himself in the backseat so he can aim out the back.

The windows are tinted. No one bothers them on their way out. They must just look like Moriyamas going to get more Moriyamas.

Andrew thinks he starts breathing again once they drive off the lot. They pass the carefully manicured garden again, and Andrew thinks, roses are so ugly. He thinks, I should take up gardening.

Then he stops thinking anything and just drives.  
  
  
  


**two months later**

****

****

“There are a thousand ways to destroy a democracy,” Kevin says. The video was shot in Philadelphia last week, but everyone flew back to South Carolina to edit and post it. A reunion of sorts. They're replaying it on the radio now—not an underground radio, just the regular radio thanks to an emergency vote by Congress that restored most of the Bill of Rights. “We think of the old kind. Military coups, dictatorships. But what we got was something different—the consequences of an unregulated economy. Our republic was infected by the disease of hyper-capitalism. People literally bought our democracy. We used to complain about our two-party system, and now we know what it's like to only have one.”

Andrew reaches for the dial to change the station. He doesn't care, and anyway, Neil helped Kevin write it, so it can't be that good. Neil only learned how the government worked a few months ago.

“Wait,” Neil says. “I want to hear the end.”

Andrew puts his hand back on the steering wheel. Kevin finishes up only a minute or two later: “Vote for me. Or don't. It's your choice.”

In the passenger seat, Neil is almost smiling. He just sits like that for a few minutes, like he can't believe Kevin actually said those words of his own volition. Even Andrew is a little proud of him. 

“There's a gas station at the next exit,” Neil says, like Andrew didn't just see the exact same sign. “We can get a map.”

“Is that what Nathaniel would do?”

Neil doesn't look at him. Most of the bandages on his face are gone. Everything is healing much better than expected, but Andrew thinks that forecast was made by a doctor who doesn't know Neil. 

“Yes,” he says. “But I don't want to be Nathaniel anymore.”

“Did you ever?”

“When I was younger, maybe. I used to want to be just like my dad.” Neil sighs. “Most kids do, I guess.”

“Fuck him,” Andrew says, because he couldn't be there to actually kill the Butcher and only got to put one bullet in another of Neil's torturers. He wishes he could go back in time and flay every single one of them. “Tell Nathaniel to stay buried with his father. I only want Neil.”

“Want, huh?” Neil says.

Andrew is glad they're pulling in at the gas station, because otherwise it would be extremely dangerous for him to do what he does next: he tugs Neil close with a hand at the back of Neil's neck and just kisses him. 

Neil smiles at him after. “Do you want anything?” 

“Surprise me,” Andrew says, and fills up the tank while Neil goes to get snacks and a map.

He comes back with two brown bags and drops them both in the backseat.

“How long is this vacation going to be?” Andrew says. Nicky and Aaron are in Germany, which means Andrew has less reason than ever to stay put in Palmetto, but Neil might want to come back soon. 

“I don't know,” Neil says. “Three months to Election Day.”

Andrew doesn't care about Election Day, but Neil does, so they'll have to be back in time to help Kevin finish up his campaign. For now, he has political consultants a thousand times smarter than them and three mostly-Neil speeches for his next few events, not to mention a giant security team. 

It might not work. After all this, Ichirou might find a way to consolidate his remaining power and stay in office. He might kill all of them.

But he might not. Or someone might get to him first. Or Congress might grow a conscience and a spine.

“Where do you want to go?” Neil says, flipping the map open. He bought a baseball hat and sunglasses at the gas station, and he looks absurd in them, like a child, his auburn hair poking out of the back and sides. “North or south?”

“I don't care,” Andrew says. “You choose.”

Neil traces a path from Palmetto east. He's looking at Andrew, face unfathomable behind the sunglasses

The chance of all of this working seems one in a million, but Neil is betting on Kevin, and Andrew—despite himself—is betting on Neil. 

The thought is almost as disturbing as Neil's expression. Andrew pushes two fingers against the healed part of Neil's cheek to get him to look anywhere else, but Neil's head lolls back, and he smiles.

“It's warm out,” Neil says. “Let's go see the ocean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that caesar analysis is pretty common, but the wording is from slate's culture podcast. not exact, but close enough to cite.
> 
> thanks for reading! god i am GLAD this fic is done lol
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr ([fandom](http://wilsherejack.tumblr.com) | [main](http://osaudade.tumblr.com))! please leave a comment if you enjoyed or spotted a typo.


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